What God Has Cleansed
by Sarah Lynn B
Summary: In a small town haunted by the memory of a deadly high school bus crash, Monica finds three souls in desperate need of healing: the driver who caused the crash, the young woman who survived it - and Andrew, whose sudden reticence hides a painful secret.
1. Chapter 1

**"What God Has Cleansed"**

**by**

**Sarah Lynn B  
**

It was just past dawn when the red convertible pulled into the dusty main street of the small Midwestern town. The early sunlight was glinting on the whitewashed steeple of the church on the corner, and the young woman seated on the passenger side of the car lifted her head to admire the sight as the car, its top down to take advantage of the warm spring air, crept past.

"I think the dawn is my favorite time of day," The young woman sighed in a light Irish brogue, and stretched her arms above her head. "So many possibilities."

"Hm." Her companion, an older heavyset woman, grunted good-naturedly as she steered the antique car. "Most people just sleep right through it."

"Then it's a pity," The young woman replied as she ran her fingers through her long brown hair. "I think the sunrise is God's way of saying every day's a new beginning. You sleep through it - you might never know what He might offer."

The other woman smiled in agreement as they slowly drove up the deserted street. To anyone who looked, there might not be anything special about these two women, or this car. There would be nothing in the young woman's slight figure or Gaelic face to hint that she was eight thousand years old; nothing in the other woman's darker complexion or white-streaked hair to suggest that she had been around to see the Earth form. And you'd never know, just by walking by and saying hello, that the eyes that met yours in kind reply had looked into the face of God Himself, and given Him all praise at the beginning of time when they were created as His angels. Yet all of these things were true.

"Tess," the younger woman said as her companion eased the huge car into a diagonal parking space on the main street, "Do you suppose there's a diner in town?"

"Why?" Tess answered as she shifted the car into park.

"Oh...I could go for a cup right now, is all."

"Monica," the older woman said in a warning voice, and shot her companion a stern look. "You know you were told to cut back."

"I know," Monica acquiesced as she opened the massive convertible door, "But it's such a lovely day, and somehow it just doesn't feel right to be standing here,in the light of God's majesty without- "

"Without that all-important caffeine buzz going on?" Tess deadpanned as she hauled herself out of the low-slung vehicle. She paused to survey her surroundings, and shoot Monica a small look. "You just pay attention to your assignment, Miss Wings. Maybe later you can find that cup of coffee."

Monica smiled slightly and nodded. Tess had been her supervising angel for as long as she'd been a caseworker - three years, and she knew that what Tess said you didn't argue with. She looked around her at the deserted main street, and frowned; It was one of those downtowns that looked as if it had once been bustling. There was a large department store across the street, empty and dark, the letters of the store sign gone but the outline still plainly visible among the metal posts on the storefront where the letters had been removed years ago. Around it on both sides of the street were many small stores, just as deserted, some with soap and newspaper covering the windows like shrouds. Small withered trees, dying of neglect, shook their crisp branches in the morning breeze, dropping dead leaves among the rust-colored scrubby bushes that sat morosely under them in a vain attempt at decoration. The church they had passed coming in was still plainly visible, but from the scrubby, overgrown lawn, dingy appearance, bare sign and padlocked doors Monica guessed it had, for some reason, been closed years ago. There was no sign of life anywhere

"Is there an assignment here?" Monica asked in wonder. "I thought we were just stopping to stretch."

"There most definitely is,"Tess said firmly. "Look around you. This place used to be the happiest little town on Earth. Full of the kind of joy that makes God glad. Now look at it."

Monica ventured another glance around. "What happened? Did everyone move to the suburbs?"

"No," Tess said sadly, "They moved inside. Inside themselves."

"But why?"

"Why don't we try to find that diner," Tess answered cryptically as she turned to go up the street, "And maybe we'll find out."

Monica looked around again, shrugged, and followed her mentor up the street.

The sun was up a little higher now, striking the Mansard roofs and glittering eagles that adorned the old buildings of the street. Monica paused by one storefront to glance at the sight, then turned to continue up the sidewalk - and bumped squarely into someone she hadn't seen come up beside her.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, and stepped back. "I'm sorry - "

She stopped. It was a man who faced her, an older man with greying hair and a sad, haunted face. He looked at her with an expression she might have called surprise, but didn't say anything.

"Are you all right?" Monica asked, placing a hand on his arm.

The man flinched away from the angel's touch, wincing a bit. "Yes, I'm fine," he said in a low voice, and without meeting her eyes again he hurried past. As Monica watched him go she saw he was carrying a plastic garbage bag, picking up stray pieces of paper and other litter as he went down the street.

Monica turned back. "Tess - "

"Meet your assignment." Tess said in reply, "That's Richard Paxton. Fifteen years ago he was a high school bus driver, quiet, kept to himself, but well enough liked. Then one day on the way back from a school trip the bus he was driving hit a train because he wasn't paying attention. Twenty-three children - most of this town's senior class - died."

Monica felt her heart tighten. "Oh, Tess..."

"Everybody in town lost someone, or knew someone who had. A lot of people moved away after the crash, said it was just too painful. Some stayed, but it's hard to be happy in the face of so much grief. Richard pleaded guilty to manslaughter, did some time, but when he got out nobody in town would give him the time of day. They still don't. Now..."

Tess paused and, with Monica, watched Richard amble slowly down the street, his dejected form dark even in the morning light. Tess shook her head.

"Now he just does odd jobs and at night sits alone in his shabby little house, waiting to die. Just like this town, he's got to see through the past to embrace the present and look to the future. Problem is, Richard doesn't have a whole lot of future left."

That's when Monica saw the young man standing on the second-floor balcony of a closed store across the street. The morning sun had reached the balcony, and gleamed in the young man's blond hair and off his beige linen suit. He stood there, not moving, with his hands in his pockets watching Richard walk down the street. He was an angel, like Tess and Monica, but unlike them he had another title besides caseworker - the angel of Death.

"Oh, Tess, look - it's Andrew,"Monica said happily, waiting until she caught the angel's eye and giving him a friendly wave. He saw her, she knew he did, but instead of waving back he returned his gaze to Richard for a moment, watching him with an expression Monica, who knew him almost as well as she knew Tess, had never seen before - anger. Then Andrew slowly turned and left the balcony.

"Why, Tess," Monica said, puzzled, "He didn't even wave hello. That's not like Andrew at all, is it?"

Tess gave a sigh and turned to head back to the car. "You'll have to forgive him, baby. This is a tough assignment for all of us, but it's going to be especially tough on our Angel-boy."

"Why?" Monica asked in concern, falling into step beside Tess.

Tess paused, then said, "You'll find out when the time comes, but the important thing is if everything goes well by the time God is through here Andrew, and Richard, and this town, are all gonna get what they need the most."

"What's that?" Monica asked as they reached the car.

Tess paused beside a newspapered store window. The newsprint was faded, yellowed and brittle, but still readable. On one wrinkled page a banner headline screamed "23 KILLED IN BUS CRASH", beneath it a black-bordered class photograph. Monica saw it as well and looked at it thoughtfully as Tess answered, her ancient eyes fixing on the closed church down the street.

"A cleansing, baby. A cleansing."

* * *

Later that morning Monica found herself in front of the city's municipal building, a tiny sandstone structure sandwiched between two vacant stores on the town's main street. Even though it was past 10 o' clock, she felt as she entered the doors and walked across the polished wood floor to the antique counter as if she was the first customer of the day.

An older woman, attired in a navy blue suit and her hair in an old-fashioned bun, came wearily to the counter and said in a flat tone, "Can I help you?"

Monica glanced down at the nameplate that sat on the counter in front of the woman.

"Good morning, Ms. Stratford," Monica said, smiling her most beatific smile in hopes of lightening the woman's expression. It didn't work. "Ah - I've come to look after the church."

The woman's dour face was now dour and puzzled. "Excuse me?"

"I've been sent by ecclesiastical management to look after your church. The one on the corner. It needs some attention."

"Oh." Ms. Stratford nodded, not looking any happier but at least looking as if she understood. Thank goodness. "Well, it's about time. That place has been going to rack and ruin for years." She reached under the counter and pulled out a stack of forms.

"If you'll pardon me for asking, ma'am, but I wasn't told why it closed."

"Huh? Oh, the pastor moved out of town. His wife was too upset by the accident."

Monica started. "She had an accident?"

Ms. Stratford laughed, a short humorless bark. "No, the bus accident! Oh, that's right, you're from out of town." She jabbed her pen at a black-bordered photograph that hung on a wall just behind the counter. Monica realized it was the same one she'd seen in the store window - probably cut from the same issue of the paper, right after it happened. "Huge wreck. Twenty-three high school students killed, practically the whole senior class. Awful thing. A lot of people around here couldn't handle it. "

"She doesn't know about the accident?" A stout, bespectacled woman carrying a folder, who had apparently been just out of sight, shuffled over and blinked at Monica in wonder.

"Out of towner." The other woman said, scribbling something on one of the forms. "My sister lost her eldest, my nephew Tommy. She moved out six months later."

The stout woman smiled at Monica. "Are you staying long?"

Before Monica could answer the other woman shot back, "Course not, Mildred. Nobody ever stays here long anymore. This city's been like a morgue ever since the accident. Name?"

"Ah, can I fill that out and bring it back later? I'm running errands."

"Huh? Well, I suppose so." Ms. Stratford shoved the stack of forms at Monica. "Just don't do anything with that building till you bring 'em back. They're authorization forms."

"I won't. Actually," Monica was trying to balance the forms in her hands, "I was wondering, the lawn looks like it's going to need the most work. Can you recommend anyone?"

"Well," Ms. Stratford set both hands on the counter and stared up at the ceiling, "Yeah, I could, but this is planting season and they're all busy. You may end up doing it yourself."

Monica nodded. 'I did see a man this morning, I don't think he was a farmer. He was walking along Main Street, picking up trash, looked like he could use the work. Do you suppose he might be available?"

"Old Richard Paxton?" Mildred exclaimed, and giggled into her folder.

"Is that his name? I'd like to hire him." Monica said.

Ms. Stratford stood back and placed her hands on her blazered hips. "Well, you must be new around here or you'd never let those words out of your mouth. That's the man who killed those kids and if you give him so much as the time of day there'll be tongues wagging from here to the state line. He's a , a , what's that word when nobody speaks to you - "

"Pariah," Mildred suggested, still from behind the folder.

"Yeah, that's it. He's a pariah. "

Monica frowned. "You wouldn't hire him then?"

"Not if he was the last man on Earth."

Monica studied the forms in her hand. "And if I choose to?"

"You'd be the first person around here to speak to him in months. Nobody has anything to do with that murderer at all if they can help it. Still, he does do odd jobs, so do what you want, I can't stop you. He lives on Chestnut Street. But you've been warned."

Monica nodded silently, somewhat stunned by this woman's wholehearted condemnation of Richard. She backed away from the counter.

"Bye now." Mildred said, waving her folder. Ms. Stratford had already left the counter, but was eying Monica suspiciously from the doorway into the back room.

The icy hatred in that woman's eyes still touched Monica's soul, and chilled her even after she stepped into the warm spring sun. Once on the sidewalk, she glanced at the small pile of forms in her hand, then down the street to where the church stood, empty, shabby, waiting to be reborn. Then she turned her steps toward Chestnut Street.


	2. Chapter 2

Sometime later Monica came to a small country road on the edge of the town. The main street she'd left was no more than ten blocks away, yet this area looked completely deserted. There were a few houses, none that looked new, and the cemetery that dominated the low hill to her left was easily the most eye-catching landmark. Across the street from it, off to the right, was Richard's house.

It was small, but looked like it had once been a charming dwelling. Now it was gray and overgrown, as if no one lived there. But someone did.

Smoothing out her long dress and summoning up her angel's courage, Monica walked up the broken sidewalk to the door and knocked.

Nothing happened. After waiting a few moments Monica caught the sight of a curtain at one of the dingy windows fluttering, back then forth again, as someone unseen peeked out. But another minute went by, and no one came to the door.

She knocked again, a little louder. This time the door opened, slowly and not very far, and the same face she had bumped into earlier peered out at her, blinking as if unaccustomed to the bright sunlight. It was Richard. Monica was surprised at how drawn and white he looked.

When he didn't speak, Monica said, "Hello, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm cleaning up the town's church grounds and I need someone to give me a hand with the yard work. You were recommended to me by a friend. Can you help me?"

Richard blinked at her, surprised and she thought a bit confused. But still he didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry," Monica said, stepping back away from the door,"I must have caught you at a bad time. If you know of anyone who does lawn work have them call - "

"Oh!" Richard suddenly said, as if snapping out of a dream, and immediately opened the door wider. "I apologize. I - I was eating breakfast when you knocked. Yes, I do yard work. What do you need?"

"Everything, I'm afraid." Monica admitted, holding out her hands. "All thumbs, and none of them green. But the lawn is the worst. Can you come?"

"Yes," Richard said, and took the paper Monica offered. "What day?"

"Tomorrow morning, say around nine?"

"All right. I have to get back to breakfast - ," Richard said, and began to shut the door.

Eager to prolong the conversation and learn more about her Earthly charge, Monica blurted, "I'm sorry to impose, but may I use your phone? I need to make a call."

Richard shot her what seemed like a suspicious look, suspicious and fearful, but after a moment's pause he nodded and opened the door wider.

Monica stepped into the house and looked around. It was tidy but dim inside; all the curtains were drawn against the sun, and the resulting gloom was oppressive. There was an old couch, an old chair, both worn and frayed. Another chair sat in a corner, equally depressed-looking, next to an ancient floor lamp, which was off. There were no pictures on the walls, no photographic reminders of family or friends; however, in a cheap wooden frame next to the chair hung a faded newspaper photograph. Three rows of smiling teenagers enclosed in a black border, a haunting reminder.

Monica stood there a moment, touched by the emptiness in the tiny house, and unaware that Richard was next to her, fidgeting nervously. Finally he pointed toward the back of the house.

"Pardon?" Monica blinked out of her reverie.

"The phone. It's back there."

"Oh. Thank you."

Having no idea who she was going to call, Monica stepped through the darkened living room down a narrow hall into the kitchen. It was no brighter than the front of the house; the window above the sink was covered by a pulldown shade, allowing only slivers of light to slip past the edges. Everything in the room was old and unreplaced - the metal sink, the roundedged refrigerator. The phone had a large dial on it. Tentatively Monica picked it up and dialed a random set of digits, hoping she wasn't waking up a sleeping mother or sick child. Or angry teamster.

One ring, two. Click.

"Miss Wings, what are you doing?"

"Tess!" Monica was said the name loud enough to cause Richard to look at her. She stammered, "I was just - I was just checking to see if I had any messages."

"You want messages? Get your butt in gear and talk to the man. How's that?"

Monica pursed her lips. "I see. Any others?"

"Yeah. If you see Angelboy tell him I need to talk to him."

"He's not with you?"

"No, and I think he's hiding because I can't find him anywhere."

"Hiding? From what?"

There was a pause. Then Tess said, "All in God's time, honey. Just keep your mind on your own troubles."

Monica glanced toward Richard, who was easing himself into the dingy chair in the corner. "I will. Thank you." And she hung up the phone.

For a moment Monica stood there, thinking Then she happened to glance in the sink and noticed that there were no dishes in it. She looked on the counter. No breakfast dishes stacked in the folding plastic rack. None on the folding card table that sat in one dim corner. Quietly she slid to the fridge and opened it.

Inside was an almost-empty milk jug, an open package of bologna and half a loaf of bread. There was nothing else.

She looked back out at Richard; she could see his legs, but the rest was hidden by the wall and the chair he sat in.

Just as quietly she shut the fridge door and walked into the living room. Richard was sitting in the chair, almost absorbed by it, his hand on his chin, staring thoughtfully at nothing. Carefully Monica sat on the couch opposite him.

"Richard," She began, "Is there anything you - "

"I'm sorry," Richard exclaimed suddenly, "I'm sorry if I seemed rude just now. I'm not used to visitors."

"Oh. Well, maybe you can get used to it. Does no one come to - "

Richard leaned forward. "Who recommended you to me?"

The question was asked with such suddenness - and such force - that for a moment Monica lost her thoughts. Then she stammered, "A friend. Someone I know..."

"Well, see...see, there isn't a soul in town that'll speak my name, that's why I was so confused before. Nobody around would recommend me to anyone. They - well..." He sank back into the chair and trailed off, staring once again into nothing.

Monica took a breath. "Mr. Paxton, I haven't been here very long and I don't know your story, but you have to believe me when I say you do have a friend in this town, and He does speak very highly of you."

Hard eyes met hers. Hard, but sad and bitter. "He does, huh? I'd like to meet him."

"You will. If you want."

Richard brought his hand down, regarded Monica with a set face. "I don't want. If anybody around here likes me, it's because they don't know me."

"I like you." Monica said automatically.

Richard almost glared at her. "Like I said."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Monica glanced back toward the kitchen and stood. "I know you've already had breakfast, but I was going to the diner to get some coffee. Would you like me to bring you back something?"

Richard gave her at look that was at once so angry and so bewildered she felt as if she'd sworn at him. Then it softened a bit and said, "I'll be at the church at nine o'clock tomorrow, ma'am. Till then I can take care of myself."

Monica opened her mouth, but she could see that Richard had sunk back even farther in the chair, and had closed his eyes. She accepted this as an end to the conversation and let herself out.

Once on the front steps she was a bit surprised at how bright it was outside compared to the darkness of the house. She had to squint for a moment, but as her eyes adjusted to the glare she saw Andrew pacing on the sidewalk some distance away, his head down and his hands, characteristically, in his pockets. He didn't see her at first, but as she approached him he brought his head up. Instead of greeting her, however, the angel gave a small nod and turned away to pace in the other direction.

Monica stopped her approach. This was very odd. She had known Andrew for three years, and he was one of the most friendly, open members of the Heavenly Host she knew. He always smiled at her, always said hello. And what was that look in his large hazel eyes when he saw her?It almost looked like...well, shame?

Then she remembered. Quietly she said to the Death Angel's retreating back, "Andrew? Tess is looking for you."

A few more steps. "I know."

Monica thought harder. That response wasn't like her friend either. "She wants to talk to you."

A few more steps, gravel crunching against hard-soled shoes. Then Andrew stopped, still not facing her, and looked Heavenward. "I know." He repeated, in a tired voice.

Silence. Hesitantly Monica said. "I'm going to the diner. Is there anything you need?"

A shake of blond hair. "No."

Monica couldn't stand it. "Andrew, are you all right? Maybe it's none of my business but - "

Andrew did turn to face her then, and Monica was so shocked at the look on his face that she almost gasped. She had often seen Andrew worried, sometimes sad, once or twice angry. But the expression he bore now was one of such anxiety, such sorrow, such anger and helplessness all at once that she lost her voice completely and simply stared.

"I'm sorry, Monica,"Andrew said in a tight voice, "But you're right. This isn't any of your business, not this time. There's something..." Here he paused, and looked at the house behind them with what Monica could have sworn was loathing. "Something I have to work out, for myself, by myself. No one can help me."

Monica, terribly confused at her friend's words, reached out and touched his arm. "God can help you. Do I really have to remind you of that?"

Andrew brought his head back sharply, as if Monica had struck him. Then Andrew reached up and took her hand, a tight grip. "No, no you don't. But..." He glanced behind her again. "It's very hard to talk about. I'm sorry." And before she could say another word he quickly walked past her.

"Andrew - " Monica spun around, but Andrew had vanished, leaving her alone in the morning sunshine whose warmth she alone, it seemed, could feel. Slowly, after many moments' thought, she turned her steps towards downtown, and the diner. So it was that she did not look back toward the house; if she had, she would have seen Richard standing at the door, quietly watching the sidewalk where Andrew had been.

* * *

The main street was quiet as Monica walked slowly past its vacant stores and litter-strewn alleyways. She noticed few cars parked along the road, and only a few storefronts with anything in them. The only place that seemed to be doing any business at all was a small diner on a corner a block ahead; and even that only had two cars parked diagonally in front of it.

It was a tidy-looking little place, with a large picture window and a painted sign that read "Jimmy's" hanging above the swinging door. The green checkered curtain that hung in the lower half of the window was easily the cheeriest sight on the whole street. As Monica approached the door to go in, she noticed it pushing slowly open as an old couple emerged into the street.

She rushed forward to hold the door open wider for them, and was greeted with a slightly startled look by the man.

"Good morning," She said pleasantly.

The man's wife glanced at her now, but didn't smile or return the salutation.

"Thank you," the husband mumbled, not looking at Monica anymore, and the old couple walked past her without further words.

Saddened, Monica watched them go for a moment. She could feel the weight of grief on this place, feel the life that used to be here but was gone. No, not gone. Only sleeping, and she had to find a way to wake it up again.

"Excuse me?" A voice called from inside the diner. "Could you close the door?".

Popping out of her reverie, Monica hurriedly stepped into the diner and let go of the door. The inside of the diner was small but neat, with a row of booths lining one wall and a long counter with stools facing the other. A cash register stood sentinel just inside the door, and with a small twinge Monica noticed, among plaques of excellence and sports pictures, another copy of that black-bordered school photograph, in a black frame, hanging behind the register.

"Can I get you something?" The waitress, a young woman with short wavy black hair and a helping smile, said as she came forward.

"Um, yes," Monica answered, "I'd like a coffee - "

"Regular or decaf?"

Ouch. "Uh...decaf. And-" She quickly scanned the menu, which was scrawled on a dry-erase board behind the counter. "- and two roast chicken sandwiches. To go, please."

The waitress scribbled the order down and, ripping the order from her pad, handed it quickly through the window that separated the diner from its kitchen and yelled,"Two chickens to go please!"

Monica smiled. "You sound like you have a voice that gets things done."

The waitress smiled and shrugged. "Someone's got to keep them in line, I guess. Will that be all?"

"Well, no," Monica slide onto an empty stool at the counter and leaned forward. "Actually, I need a little help. See, I'm new in this town - "

The waitress' eyebrows shot up. "You moved here?"

Monica paused. "I'll be here for a while. You sound surprised."

"Well - " The waitress looked out the window into the empty street. "People don't move here very often, that's all. I guess I am a little surprised. Sorry."

"It seems like such a nice town," Monica continued as the waitress turned to pick up a coffeepot. "I wanted to ask about it, you know, the history of the place. Have you lived here long?"

The waitress nodded. "All my life."

"Then will you be my guide? My name is Monica."

"Sure," The waitress said as she picked up a Styrofoam cup and poured coffee into it. "I'm Beth. What do you want to know?"

Monica spread out her hands. "Anything. Local weather?"

Beth nodded. "Pretty nice most of the time. Heavy snow in the winter."

"Best place to get fresh fruits and vegetables?"

Beth, plastic cup lid in hand, paused to think. "There's a farm half a mile out of town on route 4. Has one of those cutouts that looks like a man leaning on a tree? John Murphy's place. He puts his stand out about July."

"Ah. Best place to get good gossip?"

Beth smiled as she snapped the lid on the Styrofoam cup. 'No one gossips much around here. Too busy with their own lives to bother much about other peoples'."

"I noticed that." Monica admitted. She pointed to the area behind the cash register, at the photograph. "Can you tell me about the pictures over there? Looks like there's a lot of pride in this town."

"Oh," Beth moved to the wall where the pictures hung and began pointing, "This one is from when we won a divisional football championship in 1980. This one is from a record crop in '79. Our cheerleaders took first place in a regional competition in this one - "

"What year was that?"

"Um - " Beth peered at the clipping. "'82. Spring."

"And that one?" Monica pointed at the black-bordered school photograph.

Beth turned to see where she was indicating, then turned back, an odd expression on her face.

"You really are new here, aren't you?" She said quietly, attempting a halfhearted smile. "I thought everybody knew about that."

Monica shook her head. "Can you tell me?"

Beth gave Monica a strange look - a look similar to the one she'd seen on Andrew's face earlier, Monica realized. But before she could respond a voice from the kitchen hollered out, "Two chickens are up!"

Beth hurriedly cleared her throat, "Excuse me. I'll be right back with your sandwiches." And without meeting Monica's eyes again walked quickly back into the kitchen.

Monica watched her go in puzzlement. Then she heard Tess' low voice in her ear saying. "Watch how you tread here, Angel-girl."

Monica swiveled around to face her mentor, who was standing behind the cash register, looking stern.

"Tess, I don't understand," Monica confessed, "Is everyone in this town still so affected by what happened that they can't even talk about it?"

Tess shook her head. "Everyone here is living under that pall, but Beth moreso than most. And if you take a moment out of your busy day to look closer at those young faces, you'll see why."

Monica blinked. That was true - she'd seen that photograph four times now, but had not looked at it closely enough to know the faces, and the shortened histories they contained. Slowly, she slid off the counter stool and went behind the register.

The photograph was old, yellowed from too many days in a glaring afternoon sun, but still the freshness of those young faces was apparent to Monica. Twenty-six boys and girls, the entire senior class of this small town, the caption under the photo said. All three-piece suits and Gunne Sax dresses. Longish hair on the boys and the "Prairie Look". Mostly smiles, a few serious expressions, squinting in the sun. Twenty-six teenagers,survivors listed in boldfaced type, three boldfaced names. One of them somehow familiar, younger, first name Beth -

Monica looked up at Tess, shocked. Tess nodded soberly. "That's right, Miss Wings. Your guide to this town's tragedy is one of the only ones who lived through it."

"Oh Tess," Monica breathed, her eyes widening, "I've made a mistake - "

"Mistakes are sometimes our greatest opportunities," Tess whispered as Beth emerged from the kitchen. "This one may be yours." And promptly vanished.

Monica pursed her lips and glanced at Beth, who slowed down when she saw Monica standing in front of the photograph. After a moment's silence Monica stammered, "Beth, I'm - "

Beth held up a white paper bag a said soberly, "Come on, my shift's over and I'm going home. If you're going to be in this town long, this is a story you better know."


	3. Chapter 3

Beth didn't say anything for about three blocks after they left the diner. The sun had risen a little higher, and every now and then a car or truck would rumble down the street beside them, but other than that and the sound of their footsteps there was silence. Monica was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and a little ashamed - if she'd looked at that picture sooner, she could have asked someone else to tell her about the accident, someone not so involved. She kicked herself for being so impulsive. Was she ever going to learn?

At length, they passed a block of closed storefronts, an old candy store, a photo shop. The morning wind blew, a light breeze.

"When I was a kid," Beth said in a forced, cheery tone, "We used to come down here every day after school. There used to be a record store - you know, back when they had records - and we'd come here, get some Cokes and go listen to whatever had come in. You know who I loved then? Rick Springfield. Joan Jett. Christopher Cross. Now they're all trivia questions on 'Jeopardy.' "

She gave Monica an ironic smile and at the end of the block turned toward a small white house hidden behind a screen of dense trees. It was a charming house, with huge picture windows and dark green shutters.

"This is the place," Beth smiled and unlocking the front door she waved Monica in.

Inside the place was a pleasant jumble of old and new furniture. The living room was huge, with a hardwood floor and a large window seat on one wall. The living room seemed to double as a studio: scattered throughout the room were several dozen paintings, stacked in piles and leaning against the white walls in various stages of completion. Monica peered at them; they were all impressionistic paintings of angels.

As Beth went into the kitchen, Monica set the bag of sandwiches down on a nearby coffee table and stepped up to an easel that was sitting by one of the windows. She looked closely at the painting that sat on it. It seemed to be of a burst of bright light, and in the center an outline of a figure stood, dark except for a halo of white-blond hair.

"You're very good," Monica observed.

"What?" Beth called from the kitchen, and poked her head around the corner. "Oh. Thanks." She came into the living room, an iced tea in one hand, and shrugged depreciatively at the canvas. "It's a hobby I guess. Actually, I love doing it, but around here there's no way to make money at it."

Monica nodded, unsure what to say. Beth solved her problem when she gave the painting a somewhat dark look and, taking a drink of tea, said, "Anyway, the accident..." The ice in the glass jingled as Beth walked slowly over to the window seat and sat down. " It was about a month before graduation, and one of the guys in my class wins this radio contest, take twenty-five friends to see Juice Newton. Eddie Branson." Beth said with a reminiscing smile, and getting up again went to a nearby bookcase and pulled out a faded high school yearbook with SENTINEL 1978 stamped on the leatherette cover. Flipping it open, she showed Monica a set of class pictures, freshman year, girls with Farrah Fawcett hair and boys with wide-collared shirts. She pointed to one boy and grinned. "That's him. I thought he was so cute."

Monica smiled. "He's - what's the word - dreamy." She glanced at the bookcase, saw three other yearbooks and reached for the one that had SENTINEL 1982 stamped on the binding.

"No, don't," Beth said quickly, snapping the yearbook shut and jamming it against the others.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Monica apologized, withdrawing her hand. "I guess that was pretty rude."

"No, it's not that, it's - " Beth looked at the newest yearbook strangely, "Well, I - got that yearbook about two days before the accident, and...well, I never opened it after that. It's too real, you know?"

Monica winced and nodded.

Beth took a deep breath and walked back to the window seat . "Anyway, Eddie didn't know who to invite, so he invited the whole senior class to go on this thing. So we get a school bus and go, and the concert is great, and we're on our way back, but the guy - " Beth paused here to cough, looked at the ceiling - "But the guy driving the school bus isn't watching the road, and somebody said he's gonna get us in an accident, and it's late at night and you know how some of the railroad crossings around here don't have lights, so you stop to make sure there isn't a train coming? Well..." Beth took a deep shaky breath, "Well, the bus driver must've been dozing or something and didn't see the signs cause he hit the brakes but we were too close by then and ..."

Beth stopped and blinked, a single tear dropping out of her eye. "It was fifteen years you know, and I can still see it. Here," She set the glass down on the floor and quickly rolled up one sleeve of her shirt and ran her hand along a whitish scar that marked the inside of her left arm. Monica came closer to see. "That's where I got this. I was really hurt, I thought I was gonna die, I..." She looked at Monica, the pain fresh in her large brown eyes. "Sometimes I think I was supposed to die. Eddie did. I never figured that out. He had a scholarship, you know? And Lisa Letterman, she was gonna get married in six months. And other kids, popular kids, you know, more important than me, they were gonna be somebody. And they died. And I lived and here I am, still stuck in this Godforsaken town, still nobody. I don't get it." She sniffed, and looked forlornly out the window into the sunshine.

Monica knelt by Beth and gently stroked her arm. "I'm sorry, Beth. I shouldn't have made you relive this."

Beth looked back, gave a tiny smile and shrugged. "Just thought you should know. Anyone will tell you the story, in fact it's all most people talk about. " Beth took a drink of tea and heaved a large sigh. "Anyway, I got out of the hospital, two weeks maybe, half these stores were shut. The only survivors were me and these two other girls, but their families moved as soon as school let out. We never did have graduation. First the record store, then the drug store. By the time I was well enough to go out there wasn't anywhere to go."

"Why did your family stay?" Monica asked.

"Oh, Dad said if we stayed long enough things would get back to normal. You know, other kids would grow up, somebody would reopen the stores. Didn't happen, though. I mean, there were other kids, but it was like people felt guilty if they had any fun, especially if I was around. We stayed, but things never came back."

Monica nodded; she didn't know what else to do.

There was a long pause as Beth stared at the melting ice in her glass. Finally she said, "You know what the worst part is? All my friends, they never got to live, and I did, but it doesn't mean anything. I mean, when I woke up after the accident, all I thought was my life is over. After a while I thought maybe that was a little melodramatic, but then..." She ducked her head back down again, and her voice grew small. "I found out it was true."

"But it can't be," Monica insisted, trying to smile. "I'm sure God has a purpose for you, Beth. Have you asked Him to help you?"

Beth looked at her, perplexed. "Nobody talks about God around here, except to ask why if there is a God He didn't prevent the accident. The one church we had is shut down. I'm not even sure I believe in God."

"Well, you must at some level," Monica replied with a small smile, standing, "Or else you'd have a hard time painting such beautiful pictures of His angels."

"Oh - " Beth lifted her head, and gazed with shimmering eyes at the white-haloed figure on the canvas. "Well, that - he's..." She paused, pursed her lips, then looked down and shrugged wordlessly, rubbing her arm as if reliving something. Finally she looked up and asked, "Um, do you want me to put your sandwiches in the fridge?"

The sandwiches! Monica suddenly remembered them, and walking over to the coffee table picked up the paper bag. "No thank you, actually I picked these up for a friend. I should probably be taking them to him."

"Oh. Okay." Beth stood and walked Monica to the door. She opened the screen door and Monica stepped onto the sun-dappled sidewalk.

"Does your friend live far from here?" Beth asked, holding the screen door open and leaning amiably against it.

"No, not very. He lives out on Chestnut Street."

Beth's eyes snapped to Monica's face. "Not Richard Paxton?"

Monica nodded. "He's doing some yard work for me and - "

"Okay, Monica," Beth said in a tight voice, standing quickly, "I'm gonna tell you something, and please don't take it the wrong way, but nobody around here has anything to do with that guy. Everything I just told you? It was his fault."

Monica bit her lip; she should have expected a reaction like this. "You mean he - "

"He was driving the bus and caused the accident. Trust me, if you want to make any other friends around here you don't want to be friends with him."

Monica wrung the top of the paper bag in her hands. "But Beth, he's lived with that guilt long enough. Surely after fifteen years the people here - "

Beth cut her off with a sharp look. "Um, Monica, I like you and I don't want to alienate you or anything but for me it still feels like it happened yesterday. That's the way everybody feels, so you might as well get used to it. And I don't care how long that jerk has lived with his guilt. Even if it's a hundred years it won't be long enough."

And with that, Beth slammed the screen door and retreated back into the house.

After Beth left Monica began to retrace her steps to Richard's house, aimlessly swinging the paper bag and thinking. She shook her head, infuriated at her blindness to the intensity of human emotions. Why didn't she realize, of course Beth would still hate Richard. And she was probably right about the town too. From what they saw he took away their very future, why wouldn't they blame him for the town's sad decline?

But fifteen years, she thought. So long to be bitter. And after that long, could there be forgiveness? How could she make such fruit spring from such bitter ground?

At length she found herself in front of the sad clapboard dwelling. She knocked on the front door and waited.

And waited some more. Knocked again. No answer. Concerned, she stood on tiptoe, trying to peek in through the small window near the top of the door. But she couldn't see anything.

She then went around to the back, carefully stepping through overgrown weeds and shrubs to the back door. Knocked. Nothing. Tried the door. Locked. Looked in through the grimy kitchen window.

From this vantage point she could see, much as she had before, through to the living room. Richard's legs were plainly visible, hunched in the chair in the corner. She could see them move, then cross in a casual way, so she deduced he wasn't having a heart attack or any other medical problem. And she knew he wasn't deaf. He just wasn't answering the door.

"You stand much longer those sandwiches are gonna be spoiled."

Monica turned; Tess was regarding her from beneath the shade of a nearby tree.

Chagrined, Monica looked at the bag in her hands. "And I forgot the coffee."

"That's not all you're forgetting," Tess admonished, stepping out of the storefront to face her protégé. "There's an old man in that house who desperately needs your friendship."

"Are you sure about that? When I tried to talk to him this morning he hardly said a word to me. And now he won't even open the door. I feel like an intruder."

"Well our Lord did say he would come like a thief in the night."

Monica turned a sad eye to the closed door. "You should have heard what Beth said about that poor man, Tess. She still carries such anger in her heart over him. I'm not sure she'll ever get over it. Or the town. There's so much grief to be borne here."

Tess put a supportive arm around Monica's shoulder and said, "I know. I know this is isn't easy, baby. It's hard for people to accept that God has a future for them, when they're still mourning for what's past. But you know and I know that God wants these people to know that there's hope; all these people, starting with your friend in there. There's a lot of healing that can happen here,baby, but somebody's got to give that ball a push."

Monica nodded. "I'll take these to Richard right now." She started to walk around to the front of the house and was about halfway when something caught her eye.

The late morning rays were shining fully on the cemetery across the street, casting feathery shadows where the new spring leaves were appearing on the shade trees that crowned the hill. Standing beneath them, his back to them but instantly recognizable, was Andrew.

Monica stopped, confused, and looked back at Tess.

"I see him, baby," Tess replied, but said nothing else.

"I thought Andrew didn't like cemeteries." Monica said quizzically, turning back to gaze at her friend. He didn't move, didn't seem to know they were there.

"He doesn't." Tess answered. "But right now that's where he feels he's got to be. Don't, baby," Tess said quickly when Monica moved to walk toward the hill. "There's some mighty strong angelic emotions working up there. Best to let it be."

"But why?" Monica turned back, exasperated, "Tess, he's my friend and he's in pain, why can't I help him?"

"Because he's not ready for you to help him yet."

"Can you help him?"

Tess shook her head. "I thought so, but what Andrew's going through he's got to work out with God and God alone."

"But what is he going through?"

Tess gave her an even look. "Just take care of those sandwiches, baby. Everything in good time."

Monica took a few more steps towards Andrew, tentatively, then stopped. Then, resisting every comforting, nurturing fiber in her being, Monica turned back toward the house.

At that instant she heard the back door open and Richard appeared, looking a little confused.

"Yes, miss?" He said, stopping and blinking at her.

"Um - " Monica held out the bag, "I bought these sandwiches, but I'm not hungry. Would you like them?"

Richard's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You don't want them?"

"I'd like you to have them. Please." She approached him. To her surprise, he backed away. Instinctively she put out her arm to stop him.

"Don't be afraid." She said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Please, I want you to."

Richard stopped, then grinned a little, sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not used to people being nice to..." He paused, and took the bag. "Thank you."

Monica smiled warmly at him, but Richard didn't see it.

Without looking at Monica he said, "Tomorrow morning nine o' clock." And hurried back into the house.

Monica looked to where Tess still stood, hidden in the shade tree.

Monica shrugged. "Tomorrow morning, nine o' clock."

Tess smiled at her. "Let the cleansing begin - " She paused, and Monica followed her gaze to the solitary figure, who still stood in the cemetery, a quiet figure in the morning sun.

" - for everyone."

* * *

The following day dawned brightly, one of those glorious spring days that hints playfully at becoming summer. The dew sparkled brightly in the long grass and twinkled like diamonds from the spiders' webs that hung from split wooden fences. The air was redolent with the mingled aromas of mown grass and fresh manure, spring flowers and fertilizer, and Monica smiled at the brilliance of the scene as she walked down the quiet main street on her way to the abandoned church. Spring is beautiful anywhere, she mused, but somehow in the heartland it seemed more real, more there. It was possible in some places to not even notice flowering trees coming out, grass turning green, clouds of fluffy pinks and blues instead of slate grey. But in the country it was impossible; and for that she was glad.

Pity then, she thought as she surveyed the empty streets around her, that the people of this town seemed so shut in against the Spring that God had provided. Even though it promised to be a balmy morning there were no young couples with strollers, no grandmothers on the porches watering blooming plants. In fact, she was alone on the street at the moment. It was as if the town was stubbornly refusing to admit that good things waited if they only opened their doors. It made Monica ache to think of the joy they were missing. But maybe it wouldn't be forever.

As she neared the corner where the neglected church lay Monica was surprised to see that Richard was not only already there, but had been hard at work for some time. Piles of pulled-up weeds and dead scrub-brush lay in one corner of the square yard, and as she approached she noticed he had washed the rectangular sign that stood in annunciation on the church's front lawn. Before it had been so dingy she couldn't read it; now, despite some obvious wear and a long diagonal crack through the covering plastic, she saw that the church's name was Redemption, and if the lettering in the sign was right its last service, held October 15, 1983, was ironically titled "Mov ng On ith Ch ist". Some of the letters had fallen to the bottom of the sign.

Richard, who had been on his knees toiling in the sad little bushes around the edge of the church, looked back and stood up when he saw Monica. He gave her something like a smile.

"Good morning, Richard," Monica returned the smile, with interest. "My, I see you've been busy already."

"Yes, Ma'am," Richard shyly replied, looking at his handiwork.

Monica waited for a moment, but when he didn't say anything else offered, "Well, I'm sure it makes God glad that someone is keeping his house in order again. You're doing a good job."

"Thank you," Richard said simply, and turned back to the bushes. "Thought I'd get done what I can in what little time I got."

Monica started at this, and thought of Andrew. "Why? Richard, are you ill?"

"Huh? No," Richard didn't turn around, but spoke to the bushes. After a few moments' pause he asked, "You been in town?"

"Yes, a little."

"Then you know about me."

Monica paused and bit her lip in thought. "I know that you need a friend, and I need some help with the church lawn. Sounds like a match made in Heaven to me."

For a couple of seconds all she heard was the trowel Richard was holding crunching through the rocky soil around the bushes. Then, still not facing her, he said, "Never said I needed any friends."

Monica was glad Richard wasn't looking at her face, because she was thinking very hard about what to say next, and she knew such concentration always showed. Finally she said, "Would you like me to get you something cool to drink? The diner's only - "

Now he turned, trowel in hand, and sat on his heels, looking at Monica intently. "Know what I can't figure out? Why you'd hire somebody like me knowing me. Nobody else around here would."

"Well," Monica offered. "I'm not from around here. Maybe that makes a difference."

"May be. See, I figured as soon as you found out about what I did to those kids you'd fire me just like that. And forget about the church, cause there's no reason to clean it up."

"Why do you say that?"

"Cause it's dead." Richard gazed up at the weather worn steeple, gleaming defiantly in the warm sun. "It's like this town, it's dead and I killed it. I got no right even being near it, and normally I wouldn't be, but you're right about one thing, I could use the work. But God don't want me here. I can feel it."

"Don't say that," Monica came close and knelt by Richard's side, placing a caring hand on his arm. "Everyone is welcome in God's house. "

"Ah, that's the line, but it's not true." Richard looked across the street and sighed, his eyes distant and sad. "You don't live here, so you don't understand. I went to this church for fifty years, knew everybody. Well, didn't talk to them much, but you know how country churches are, you know people just by seeing them all the time. All those kids, most of 'em went to this church, I saw 'em grow up. Baptism. Easter, Christmas, every year get a little bigger. Confirmation. Few of 'em stopped coming after that, but well, that's how kids are I guess. They'd get up during lay services, read Scripture and sing, it was so beautiful. And me? Well, you can see what I did with that." He gazed at the broken sign and shook his head.

Monica measured her next words carefully. "Richard," she began, "I'm sure God knows how sorry you are and he forgives you. Now is the time to let go of what's happened and start living the life God has given you again."

Richard smiled at her, a defeated smile. "Now see, you still don't understand. You think I'm sad because the town hates me. You think I hide in that tiny little house because I'm depressed. The truth is, Monica, it's fine with me, their hatred. Because that's how I feel. God's got no reason to forgive me. I stopped asking long ago. I don't want to be forgiven. I don't want you telling me it's all right and I should let go and all that. I want them to hate me. I deserve it. I got no right to be forgiven after what I did, and anybody in town would tell you the same. "

Monica found herself at a loss. She stammered for a moment, and in that moment Richard turned to her and said, "Let me ask you something. You believe in Heaven?"

Slowly, Monica smiled and nodded. "Yes, Richard,I do and-"

"You believe in Hell?"

Monica winced. "I believe there is a darkness, that is separation from God."

Richard nodded resolutely. "Cause that's where I'm going. I know it. God's never going to forgive me for taking all those kids' lives. " He gazed along the silent stretch of road.

Monica was flummoxed. What could she say? She'd never seen anyone so convinced of their own irredeemability. How could anyone not want God's grace?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut across the street. Monica looked up to see Ms. Stratford marching over the pavement, looking very angry.

Richard stood up quickly. It ran through Monica's mind that Ms. Stratford and Richard should not get too close to each other, and she went forward to meet the older woman halfway. The other woman was so fast, however, that they ended up meeting on the sidewalk only a few feet from the church's lawn.

Despite being somewhat cowed by Ms. Stratford's stern expression, Monica smiled pleasantly. "Good morning, Ms. Stratford."

"I thought I told you no work was to be done on this property without the proper forms." Ms. Stratford replied angrily.

"Oh - yes," Monica said, "Well, they are being filled out - "

"Are they! Well, when you're done filling them out bring them to me. Then you can begin anything you like. In the meantime - "She jabbed a finger at Richard, who was bending over the bushes with his trowel. "That man's not to step foot on this property. Understand?"

"He's not doing any harm," Monica stammered, "He just wants to help me - "

"He wants to help!" The other woman barked. "If he wanted to help he'd leave town so's nobody would ever have to look at his murdering face again. That would help. That murderer working on a church lawn is nothing short of blasphemy, and if you had a half a brain in your head you'd know that, especially after what I told you yesterday!"

Monica stared at the woman, speechless, and doubtless that's where the conversation would have ended but at that moment the side door of the church opened and Tess, looking as authoritative as Monica had ever seen her, stepped out and loudly asked, "Is there a problem?"

Ms. Stratford gaped at her. "How did you get in there? That church has been locked for fifteen years!"

"God gave me the key." Tess deadpanned.

"Well, that's trespassing," Ms. Stratford replied acidly, looking Tess up and down, "I could have you arrested for that."

"Pardon me," Tess returned, fixing Ms. Stratford with a riveting look, "But isn't this God's house?"

"Well - it's a church, if that's what you mean, but - "

"And does that not make God the owner? And if the owner lets me in willingly and lovingly is that not the opposite of trespassing?"

Ms. Stratford opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Who are you anyway?" She asked.

"I am Tess. I am this young lady's supervisor, and if you have any problems with how this renovation is being handled you will bring them to me."

Ms. Stratford paused, clearly sizing up her new opponent. "Fine then. I told this young lady yesterday that she couldn't start work without having the proper forms filled out and - "

"You mean these forms?" Tess asked archly, holding up a stack of papers. Monica could see each form was neatly, and completely, filled out.

Ms. Stratford started, and once again her mouth worked uselessly for a moment.

Tess firmly pressed the papers into the other woman's hands. "Is there anything else?"

Ms. Stratford looked at the papers in her hands as if they were pythons and said, in a smaller voice, "No...no, I guess not." And she turned to go.

"Just one moment." Tess barked, loud enough to make the woman turn back in surprise. "I believe you owe these people an apology."

"Oh..." It seemed obvious that Ms. Stratford knew she was caught. "Well.. I guess. I'm sorry, miss, for losing my temper. I guess it was just seeing that man here..."

"You owe him an apology too." Tess observed.

Ms. Stratford straightened indignantly. "For what?"

"You called him a murderer."

Ms. Stratford set her jaw. "I won't apologize for that. He is one!"

Tess leaned back and eyed the other woman. "Ms. Stratford, where are we standing?"

"Huh? On the church lawn, of course."

"And is this not the home of 'judge not lest ye be judged'?"

Ms. Stratford's face clouded with anger. and after a moment Monica realized she had unconsciously backed a few steps away from the two women.

After a few tense moments Ms. Stratford firmly shook her head and said, "You're from out of town. You don't understand." And, with that, turned on her heel and strode across the street, with the papers clenched under one arm.

Monica breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Tess."

Tess was watching the woman's back and shaking her head. "Sometimes I can't believe the anger humans let burn in their hearts. And that is one angry woman."

Monica nodded sadly and turned back toward the church - and nearly bumped into Richard, who had not moved from his position behind Monica since Tess arrived. He looked at Tess with undisguised amazement.

"Oh," Monica jumped, "Richard, this is Tess. She's my supervisor."

"Hello Richard," Tess said cheerfully, extending a hand.

"How do you do," Richard replied automatically, taking it. 'Say, you never did answer her - how did you get into the church? Did you break in?"

"Heavens no!" Tess answered, "I just opened the door and walked right in."

"Huh." Richard scratched his head, looking in puzzlement at the open door behind them. "Guess nobody's tried the doors in a long time. Locks must have rusted or something."

"Or something." Tess allowed.

"Um," Richard stuttered, fingering the trowel in his hand, "I'm going home to get some more supplies, if that's okay."

"Oh. Of course, Richard," Monica said amiably. "I'll be here when you get back."

Richard nodded and walked off the lawn and behind the church.

Grateful to finally be alone with Tess, Monica shook her head and moaned, "Oh, Tess, I wish I knew what to do! I thought I could draw Richard out by getting him here but it doesn't seem to be working, in fact, it's worse. Seeing this place only reminds him of his guilt."

"And seeing him seems to remind people here of their own demons." Tess observed, looking at the municipal office across the street.

Monica shook her head. "Tess, I'm so confused. God's forgiveness is so simple, yet so powerful and healing. It could heal this town, I know it could. But Beth is still so angry I don't know if she can ever forgive Richard. And even if she did, Richard told me he doesn't want God's forgiveness! Tess, how can that be? How can anyone not want to be forgiven by God?"

Tess shook her head and gave Monica a knowing look. "No one said understanding human behavior was going to be easy, Angel girl. And no one said this assignment was going to be a walk on the church lawn either. But it might help you to understand that struggling with guilt is not something humans alone face."

Monica cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"You'll find out," Tess replied enigmatically, "In the meantime let's see what we can do to help your friend." And with that, the two angels went to work on the lawn of the abandoned church.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was just beginning its downward descent, turning the church spire from a bright yellow to a deep gold, when Richard, Monica, and Tess stood back and surveyed the fruits of that first day's work. It was amazing transformation: where weeds and rocks choked the walk, it was clean and trimmed with bright, freshly planted flowers. Where dead bushes had lain tangled against the red brick, there was clean brown soil, waiting for new plantings. Everywhere in the air was the redolent scent of a warm spring evening, full of promise and renewal.

Tess nodded as she looked over the refurbished lawn. "I'll say this for you, Mr. Paxton, you got the gift."

Monica nodded in agreement and pressed her hand on Richard's shoulder. "You did a beautiful job."

"Yeah, well, thanks for helping," Richard said, turning to face them. "I'll get started on the windows tomorrow, and I took the money you gave me and ordered some new bushes and trees from the nursery."

Monica beamed at him. "That's fine. I'm sure God is very pleased that you have His house looking so alive again, Mr. Paxton."

Richard nodded, and rubbed his neck, looking uncomfortably at the sidewalk. "Listen, I ,uh...didn't get a chance to thank you ladies for standing up for me before. Nobody's ever done that for me, you know."

"It was my pleasure," Tess smiled broadly, and Monica knew she meant it. "It's high time the folks around here stopped having that unforgiving attitude and started looking to the good that you're doing."

Richard shook his head ruefully, looking back at the reemerging church. "I'm afraid you're asking too much, ma'am. And anyway, I don't expect it." He leaned over to gather up his tools.

"Tomorrow morning at nine, then?" Monica said hopefully.

Richard straightened up, tool box in hand, and nodded. "If you like."

And with that, he walked past the two women and slowly disappeared into the gathering dusk.

Monica looked at Tess uncertainly. "I hope this is working, Tess. The church looks better, but I'm not sure Richard's any closer to accepting God's forgiveness. I've never seen anyone so willing to live without God's light, and I don't understand it."

"I think I can help." Tess said, watching Richard's retreating figure. "You see, some folks, when they do something they're ashamed of, prefer to live in the pain rather than seek forgiveness and live with the knowledge that they can fall short of righteousness and still be loved by God. For some people, God's love can be a bigger burden that the guilt. And you know it isn't just people that struggle with it. We do too." Tess turned toward the church. "Come on, baby. Time for you to go in."

"Hm?" Monica turned toward the church. The door, locked that morning, was now standing open, and light that came from no earthly source glowed in the stained glass of the sanctuary windows. The rest of the church was dark.

"Come on, Angelgirl," Tess said, taking Monica's arm and leading her to the door. "It's time you learned about guilt."

* * *

The inside of the church was dim, dusty. The twilight filtered weakly through the dirty windows, gleamed dully on the scuffed linoleum floor. As Monica's eyes adjusted to the darkness inside she made out a wide hallway, painted cinderblock, flaking and old. They were standing outside the main sanctuary, whose doors, Monica turned to see, were closed and padlocked shut. Off the hallway were several doors, Sunday School classrooms no doubt, and on the walls outside the classrooms several children's pictures still hung, curled and brittle with age. The air was dank and a little misty.

"Oh," Monica said with a wry smile as she surveyed the sad surroundings. "I know all about guilt. You should know better than anyone how I feel when something I do goes wrong."

"Yes I do," Tess gave a reassuring smile, and squeezed Monica's arm, "And I know you try, baby. But the kind of guilt I'm talking about goes deeper than that. It's the kind that can haunt anyone. Even an angel."

Monica's eyebrows went up. "Why Tess, what do you - "

Before she could get any more words out the building around them suddenly burst forth with life. In an instant the lights were on, the dank air was replaced by candle-scented perfume, and the hall Tess and Monica stood in was thronging with people - dozens of people, all dressed in their Sunday best and milling about, happily greeting each other and smiling. Blinking in wonder, Monica heard organ music and whirled around. The sanctuary was open, brilliant with stained-glass windows that glittered in the morning sun, and buzzing with voices as parishioners filed out, faces beaming.

"Tess - " Monica stammered.

"That's right, baby," Tess remarked, watching the scene. "We're back in a time when this place knew life and hope."

As Monica watched the happy people, who seemed oblivious to the angels' presence, she caught sight of someone who looked familiar. An instant later a young man filed out of the sanctuary, pausing to shake the pastor's hand and give him a warm smile. The hair was somewhat shorter, but the face was unmistakable.

"Andrew!" Monica blurted.

"Yes, baby," Tess nodded. "You're about to find out that Andrew and this town have a lot in common." To Monica's questioning look Tess continued. "They're both about to go through the greatest tragedy of their existence, and neither one of them has gotten over it yet."

Nodding, but not really understanding what Tess meant, Monica watched in fascination as her friend walked past her and down the hall. He had just passed the door to the fellowship hall when a man came out of the room and crossed in front of him.

"Richard?" Monica asked, not altogether sure, even though it certainly looked like Richard, that it actually was her assignment. His face was too smooth, and he lacked the tired, defeated posture she knew.

"Mm-hmm." Tess acknowledged. "He was here too."

Andrew gave Richard only a passing glance, and continued down the hall. He hadn't gotten very far when a middle-aged woman with a preteen daughter came up and touched his arm.

"Why, Mrs. Weaver," Andrew smiled, taking her hand, "How are you doing today? Is this Amy?"

"Yes, it is," The woman said proudly, stroking the child's hair, "She's heard so much about your class she practically begged me to bring her this morning. Imagine that."

"Fantastic." Andrew grinned, and leaned slightly, extending his hand to the girl. "How ya doing, Amy? It's a pleasure to meet you."

The girl giggled and blushed, looking down at her shoes. Finally she looked back up at the angel and said, "Fine, sir."

"Oh, don't be so formal," Andrew chided, gently chucking her chin, "Around here, everybody calls me Andrew. Come on, class is just about to start."

"Okay!" The girl said brightly, and began walking down the hall. Three other girls about her age were clustering in the doorway of the Sunday School classroom, and as they all came together there was a huge hurricane of girlish laughter as they tumbled back into the room.

As Andrew and Mrs. Weaver walked down the hall Monica heard the woman say, "You've probably figured out by now, my daughters' friends have quite a crush on you."

Andrew smiled and laughed. "As long as it doesn't interfere with the lessons I'm teaching, and especially if it brings more people into the class, it's fine with me, Mrs. Weaver."

"Well, I just wanted you to know everyone here thinks you're doing a splendid job with the teenage class. It's the hardest one to teach, you know." Now the hall was emptying out as people left or went to the fellowship hall. Mrs. Weaver slowed her walk, then stopped. "They have so many questions at that age. And they're the tough ones too. They don't want to color pictures of the Good Samaritan anymore. They want to know why if God loves them so much there has to be so much pain in the world. Why things are so unfair." She shook her head. "And there aren't any easy answers either. Even the best ones sound like cop-outs."

Andrew smiled again, knowing and peaceful. "I didn't volunteer to teach this class because I like things to be easy, Mrs. Weaver. I volunteered because I love God. And I want these kids to know that He loves them too."

Mrs. Weaver patted his arm and made to go. "Well, you're a blessing to us all. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

As the woman walked into the fellowship hall and Andrew, sliding his hands into his pockets, turned to walk down the hall, Monica folded her arms and turned to Tess, "Andrew as a Sunday School teacher. Now that's a divine inspiration. I'll bet they learn so much from him."

"Not all of them do." Tess said darkly, nodding her head in Andrew's direction. "Look."

Monica looked. Andrew had stopped walking down the hall and was looking down another hallway that apparently led outside. His expression was not angry, but definitely sterner than before, and inquisitive.

"Cory," He asked some unseen person, "Coming to class today?"

There was a long pause, during which Andrew's eyes never left the hallway. At length a young boy, maybe twelve, appeared, dressed in a beaten-up black leather jacket and tight, ripped blue jeans. He glared up at Andrew from under shaggy brown hair. A cigarette hung from his lips.

"Hello, Cory," Andrew said, a little gentler, taking his hands from his pockets and motioning to the waiting classroom. "Put that cigarette out and come on. We're about to start."

Cory pulled the cigarette from his lips but didn't put it out. "My dad said I could just wait out here. I don't wanna be in your stupid class."

"Now, Cory," Andrew turned entreating eyes on the youth, "You know I discussed this with your Dad and he wants you in my class. Now you don't want me to call him again, do you? Cause I don't want to."

Cory looked down, then after a few moments dropped the cigarette on the linoleum and crushed it beneath one battered sneaker.

Andrew placed a guiding hand on the boy's shoulder and without another word the pair went into the room and the door was closed.

Monica turned to Tess. The other angel said, "Cory's parents are the type that believe they can just drop their son off at church and not go themselves and he'll turn out just fine. You can see what kind of an attitude he has, and Andrew's been trying to break through that attitude for months."

"Months?" Monica exclaimed, "This isn't a case working assignment then? They're usually much shorter."

"Well," Tess replied, "It started out as a shorter assignment, but Andrew took a special interest in Cory. He saw the boy was hurting and asked God to let him be sort of a long-term caseworker to him until he felt better about himself, and God. It hasn't been easy."

At that moment the classroom door burst open and Andrew reappeared, pulling Cory by the collar of his leather jacket and looking as angry as Monica had ever seen him.

"Quit it!" Cory growled as Andrew guided him by the collar down the hall. "I'll tell my dad."

Andrew stopped and faced Cory, taking a deep breath. "Cory," he said in slightly higher-pitched tone than Monica was used to hearing, "I've told you before I want you in my class. I want to teach you about the love God has for you. But you make it very hard for me to do that when you don't show respect for the other students."

Cory glowered at Andrew. "My parents let me say whatever I want. It's a free country."

"Cory," Andrew said, after taking another deep breath. "I want you to go back in there and apologize to Amy for what you said to her."

Cory sneered. "Make me."

Andrew straightened up. He was a tall angel, and easily towered over the youth that stood in front of him. Fixing Cory with his most piercing look, Andrew stared down at him and said, in a quiet but commanding tone, "I'm calling your father."

Andrew turned and began striding purposefully towards the main office. Monica watched as Cory stood alone in the hallway, clearly uncertain as to which would be worse, apologizing or facing his dad. Dad apparently won out, for as Andrew reached the door to the office, he paused and looked back at Cory. After a few seconds Cory began shuffling back to the classroom, head down and muttering words Monica was glad she couldn't understand.

Andrew watched compassionately as the boy passed him, then turned and walked with him, again placing a firm but loving hand on the shoulder of the beaten leather jacket.

"We'll talk about this later," He said just before they went back into the room.

"Well," Monica said brightly, "I think Andrew's handling all of this very well. He certainly doesn't have anything to feel guilty about in my opinion."

"Andrew did his best," Tess allowed, looking at the angel with unabashed pride, "He really wanted to be Cory's caseworker, and if ever any boy needed one, Cory did. Andrew saw him every day when he could, and managed to keep him out of trouble whenever he was around. But that's going to change. Come on, baby, I'll show you what this place used to know."

Intrigued, Monica followed Tess out the door. It was the same Main street she had gazed sadly on that morning, but transformed - the street teemed with life, people walking in warm sunshine, busy storefronts glittering with wares and food, a bustling hive of activity.

"Oh, Tess," Monica beamed, "So this is what this town used to be like."

The church was no longer dilapidated and worn - the lawn was trimmed and brilliant with spring flowers, and the sign was no longer cracked but shiny and new-looking. The letters arranged within the sign read, "Glory in the Lord April 25"

"Tess," Monica asked, keeping her eyes on the sign, "How long until - "

"From where we are now? Less than a week."

Monica nodded. A group of kids came racing past on bicycles, laughing and enjoying the sun. Then from around the corner Monica heard Andrew's voice.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do - "

Then she saw Andrew round the corner, dressed more casually in a light flannel shirt and jeans and talking to a large, rough-looking man who looked uncomfortably stuffed in a business suit.

" - It's just I don't think now is a good time for Cory to be uprooted again. He's just beginning to feel accepted here and - "

"Look, mister," The other man said, stopping and giving Andrew an exasperated look, "Your concern is touching, but what am I supposed to do? The office calls, says I'm moving. So I'm moving."

Andrew nodded, his long blond hair bobbing in the sunlight, "I understand, Mr. Churchill, and I know this isn't easy for you, but I've talked to Cory and he feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. Your family moves so often he never has a chance to make friends, and at his age that's very important. At least let me know where you're moving to. I'm sure I can arrange to follow Cory to a new church."

Mr. Churchill gave Andrew a surprised look. "Huh. You'd do that for the kid?"

Andrew put his hands together. "His welfare is very important to me, and I'm sure it is to you too. I think if I can just get Cory to understand that God loves him - "

Mr. Churchill cut the angel off with a short laugh, "That's okay, you don't have to go into the religion thing with me. I'm more worried about keeping the kid from getting arrested. You do that, I'll be happy."

Andrew's brow furrowed. "Mr. Churchill," He said quietly, "Cory causes trouble because he's unhappy and scared. You shouldn't just be concerned about his record. You should be concerned about his soul."

"His soul is your department," the man said flippantly as he strode toward a nearby Cadillac. "My only problem is keeping a lid on him till he turns 18. Then he can do what he wants."

Andrew was shaking his head, following the man to his car. "Mr. Churchill, with all due respect, I think that's the wrong attitude to take with Cory. If he thinks you don't care he'll find ways to try and get you to care. He's at a very sensitive age."

"That kid?" Mr. Churchill coughed. "He swears at his mom and me like a stevedore! He don't care about our feelings. Look," the man opened the car door, stopped and looked at Andrew. "Between you and me, I've just about given up on the kid. I try, but - what are ya gonna do? Now you, you think you can beat some sense into him, do your worst. But between you and me, I think you're wasting your time."

Monica watched Andrew sigh in exasperation as the man got in a shut the door. As the Cadillac pulled out of the parking space, Mr. Churchill rolled the window down.

"I'm going home to tell the family tonight," He hollered, " So I'm sure you'll get more of that kid's soul than you can handle come Sunday. See ya!"

Monica could see the frustration on Andrew's face as he watched the Cadillac drive off. She turned to Tess and asked, "So what happened to Cory?"

"Let's go inside and find out," Tess suggested, and they turned and walked back into the church. Magically, it seemed, it was another Sunday morning, church had let out and the parishioners were streaming to their various destinations. Monica saw Andrew, in a different but similar beige suit, chatting with other churchgoers. A small gaggle of giggling girls rushed past him to the classroom, and Monica smiled at Andrew's somewhat puzzled reaction to such naked adoration. Soon the hall was emptying and then it was quiet. Monica saw Andrew begin to walk down the hall, then stop at the hallway that led outside and look out for a few moments. Then he leaned forward, as if trying to see something that wasn't there. Then he sighed, and she saw his shoulders sag a bit. He gave the door to the parking lot one final look, then quietly walked into the classroom and shut the door.

Suddenly Monica found herself and Tess inside that classroom. It was small, with old folding chairs set up haphazardly in a sort of circle in the middle. There were a good fifteen pre-teenagers in the room, eight of them girls, who were clustered on one end of the circle and whispering to each other as Andrew came in. The boys were lounging on the other side, and rolling their eyes at the girls' snickering.

"Good morning, everybody," Andrew said, trying to be cheerful. "How's everybody today?"

Monica was impressed by how the children straightened up in their chairs and turned their attention to Andrew when he entered. Whatever he had been saying to them about God, it was obvious they had been listening. And learning.

Andrew picked up a piece of chalk and began writing on the blackboard. "Jordan, how's your mom doing?" He asked as he wrote.

The boy he was addressing said, "Um, better. She'll be out of the hospital next week."

"Good. Tell her I'm praying for her." Andrew had just finished writing the words GOD COMES THROUGH on the blackboard and turned around. "Anybody else have any news?"

One of the girls said, "Christy's dad just bought a VCR."

"Really! Christy, you like it?"

The girl whose name was Christy nodded her head vigorously, "It's really cool. I can tape 'Dallas' and watch it over and over and over - "

The cluster of girls collapsed in giggles until Andrew politely cleared his throat and said, "Well, that's...fine. Now everybody, today's lesson is going to be all about how God comes through. You know - "

At that instant the door opened and an older man, bespectacled and worried-looking, stuck his head in the door.

Monica looked at Tess. "Church superintendent." Tess answered.

"Andrew, I need to see you right away." The man stammered.

"Um, well, I'm in class but - "

"Right away. It's Cory."

Andrew put the chalk down and turned to the class, worry evident on his face. "I'll be right back," he said, and left the room.

At once Monica found herself and Tess in the church's parking lot. The side doors of the church burst open and the superintendent hurried out, with Andrew on his heels.

"Is Cory hurt?" Andrew asked anxiously.

"Oh, no," the superintendent snorted sarcastically, "He's fine. He's been out here all morning slashing tires!"

Andrew slowed, then stopped. At the end of the lot stood another of the Sunday School teachers, who had Cory by the arm and was watching the superintendent's approach. Cory stood motionless, his head down, seemingly oblivious. Glancing around, Andrew could see at least a dozen flat tires. He ran his fingers through his fine blond hair and sighed loudly.

"Just look at what this little hooligan did!" The other teacher was saying as Andrew came up.

"I'll take over, thanks." Andrew smiled wanly and carefully released Cory's arm from the teacher's grip.

"You can have him," the teacher said sharply and strode angrily into the building, "I'm calling the police!"

Andrew shot a concerned look in her direction, then turned to Cory, "Cory? You gonna talk to me?"

Cory kept his eyes on the ground and said nothing.

"Come on Cory, let's go back inside." Andrew said softly and began to lead Cory toward the church door. The boy didn't resist.

"Wait a minute," the superintendent said quickly, throwing up both hands and blocking the angel's way, "You're not taking that little thug into my church."

"That's God's house, not yours," Andrew admonished, "And He has said everyone is welcome there."

With that he led Cory around the superintendent, who shook his head in disgust but didn't say anything more.

As soon as they were inside the hallway Andrew stopped and looked at his charge again. "Cory, come on, talk to me here. What's going on?"

Cory still didn't look up, but said, "Dad says we're moving away."

Andrew nodded. "I know. He told me earlier this week."

Cory looked up, too much anger in those young blue eyes. "It sucks! Why does God hate me so much?"

"God doesn't hate you, Cory. He loves you, and He wants to be with you wherever you go. But you can't take your anger out on other people's property, that's wrong."

"Who cares!" Cory scuffed his heels into the linoleum. "Right and wrong, what a crock."

By now the door to the classroom had slid open and Andrew's class had begun to file surreptitiously into the hallway, peeking around the corner to catch the conversation.

"Who cares,"Andrew responded," I care, Cory. I know you don't want to leave, but you're not doing yourself any favors pulling stunts like this. When you feel like you wanna lash out like that, come talk to me, with God's help we can work this all out. Okay?"

Cory had stubbornly folded his arms and pouted, "I don't want God's help. God sucks."

Monica watched Andrew's face sweep through a variety of expressions, from angry to sad to bewildered, then it settled on stern. "Cory, you know I told your dad that if you want I can come with you to wherever you move to. That way you'll have someone in your new town to talk to. Would that make you feel better?"

Cory was still pouting. "Yeah, right. Like you'd follow me. Liar."

Andrew straightened up again, this time in surprise. "Cory - "

"You feed us all that crap about God," Cory cried, his voice rising until it was nearly a shout, "About how much He cares and how He always takes care of you. But if God loves me so much, why did He give me a father who doesn't give a - " Here Cory used a word Monica had never heard in a church, and she blushed and saw the girls from the classroom giggle nervously. " - about me, huh? He hates me. God hates me, and I'm sick of it. Don't follow me, don't feed me this crap any more cause I'm sick of it."

"Cory," Andrew said, giving a nervous glance to the group clustered at the corner of the hallway, "Stop talking like that and listen to me. I've told you, God doesn't hate you. Understand? God does not - "

At that point Cory hurled another expletive at Andrew, this time one Monica had only heard once or twice in her 8000 year existence, and certainly never in a church. The girls in the group gasped and covered the mouths; the guys mostly just stood with their mouths open.

For his part Andrew turned ash grey for a moment, then very quietly, very firmly said, "Cory, I love you as God loves you, but if you can't be in God's house without using that kind of language we'd better go outside."

Cory stared back at him, red with emotion, a million sparks of resentment and pain in his eyes. Then he bolted for the door, flung it open, and ran outside, his sneakers smacking the parking lot pavement, fading, growing silent.

The rest of the class stared at Andrew. He was watching the path Cory had taken, himself pale and Monica thought about as shaken as she'd ever seen him. He took a few steps towards the door, and Monica could see in his face the struggle he was obviously going through: should he follow Cory, who had just told him he didn't want his help, and abandon the class, or attend to his class, who were eager to learn about God, and abandon Cory? For a few moments the air was heavy as Monica watched to see what her friend would do.

Then Andrew took a deep, uncertain breath and cleared his throat. "Let's get back to our lesson." He said quietly, and without a word he herded the muted students into the classroom.

Monica hugged herself in sympathy. "Poor Andrew. He certainly got the blunt end of the stick that time."

"And it didn't end there," Tess revealed. "For the rest of the day Andrew stayed away from Cory; he was beginning to think he wasn't ready to be that boy's caseworker, and that little encounter you just saw rattled his wings more than he'll ever admit."

Monica scratched her head, "Well, I guess I'm not the only one who makes mistakes. And I do feel sorry for Andrew, and Cory, but I don't see why this would upset Andrew as much as it has. After all, he knows it was Cory's choice whether to accept God's love or not."

"But our story isn't over yet." Tess said, and suddenly they found themselves on a long stretch of Midwest country road at twilight. In front of them, walking with fed-up strides, Monica saw Andrew again.

"Where's he going?" She asked Tess.

"He's on a long walk back to God. We're now at the end of that Sunday, and Andrew has just decided he needs to get away from people for a while."

"But what about Cory? Andrew would never abandon him."

"But Andrew doesn't see it that way. He thinks he just needs to give the boy some space; Remember, what's clear to angels most times isn't to people, and to someone like Andrew anybody not loving God he just can't figure out. He knew Cory was mad, but he didn't know how mad until this morning. So Andrew's sorting that all out in his head."

Monica nodded, remembering her own struggles with human peculiarities. She gave Tess a knowing smile, "Well, I'd say I know Andrew well enough to know he went back and helped Cory, so I confess I'm still a little lost about the guilt. Did somebody else do something that hurt Andrew?"

Tess' expression was unreadable. "Wait and see."

Puzzled, Monica turned back to watch Andrew. The sun was sinking lower behind the horizon, and it was becoming harder to make the angel out as he approached them. As he drew near, Andrew suddenly looked up and stopped, his expression changing from self-reflection to surprise, then chagrin. He seemed to be looking straight at Monica.

Startled, Monica turned to Tess. Then she heard Tess' voice say, "What do you think you're doing, Angel boy?"

Monica blinked - Tess hadn't opened her mouth! But then another Tess, the Tess of the past,

walked past her Tess and toward Andrew, her arms folded sternly.

Andrew shot her a meek look and ducked his head down. "Tess, I've been thinking about turning Cory over to somebody else." To Tess' exasperated countenance he said hurriedly, "Well, it's obvious I'm failing! He isn't listening to me at all. Maybe, maybe somebody with more experience can get through to him."

"Even experienced angels did something for the first time once," Tess observed. "Did it ever occur to you that this is your first time to help someone like Cory?"

Andrew mulled this over, then shrugged. "I don't know, Tess, sometimes I think I'm starting to get him to trust God and open up, but then something happens and he just disappears into all that anger again. I don't know how to get through that."

"Is that why you didn't go after Cory this morning?"

Andrew shot Tess a shamed look. "I was going to, Tess, but...there wasn't anything else I could do for Cory this morning. I offered him God's love and he rejected it. Those other kids, they all love God already..."  
"So you took the easy choice, huh? I'll bet you know how God feels about that."

Andrew looked down again and scuffed one shoe on the pavement. "Yes, I do. I made a mistake, I should have gone after Cory and tried to calm him down but - " He brought his head up and regarded Tess with frustrated eyes. "Tess, I don't know what to say anymore. I've told him God loves him, he doesn't care. I've tried everything I know, but his soul is...it's fighting me."

"I know, baby, but you just got to keep fighting back. God wouldn't have given you this assignment if He didn't think you could bring Cory to God's heart. You just got to hang in there."

Andrew looked at her and nodded, then shrugged, "I'll go see him later tonight. Maybe by then he'll have calmed down enough for me to..."

Andrew had stopped talking, his voice trailing off to a whisper, the look he gave Tess was one Monica hadn't seen before, infinite sadness and total knowledge. "There's been an accident."

Tess looked at him. 'You being called, baby?"

"Yes," Andrew said, and began walking again, a little faster. "It's a bad one. I'll have to see Cory tomorrow..."

Monica watched Andrew go past, and the truth dawned on her. "The bus accident."

"That's right," The present-day Tess acknowledged, "Andrew had hard work ahead of him that night."

"Oh, so that's why he's so upset," Monica deduced, "All those children, it must have been very difficult for him. But he's the angel of death, I thought by this time he'd be used to untimely passings."

"He is," Tess said, her voice sounding sadder, "But not this time. Time you learned the end of this story, Monica. But get ready, it's worse than you think."

In a flash, Monica found herself surrounded by darkness and pulsing red and white lights, and screaming sirens. Blinking in confusion, she finally made out, in the harsh glare of police cars and ambulance lights, the twisted wreck of a yellow school bus. Everywhere people were running and crying, a cluster of bereaved parents were huddled some distance away, supporting each other as best they could. Rescue crews and townspeople were crawling all over the remains of the bus, looking for survivors. On the pavement, Monica saw paramedics laboring over three still forms, young girls, clad in bloodied jeans and t-shirts. She instantly recognized one of them and whispered, "Beth."

Monica's eyes were riveted as she watched the paramedics lean over Beth, cleaning and wrapping a gaping arm wound. Tears in her eyes, she looked up and saw Andrew coming towards them through the smoke and blaring lights, his hands in his pockets and his face a blend of pity and compassion.

As he passed the bus, Monica saw someone else come from behind the bus, flanked by two police officers. It was Richard, younger and now quite beside himself, almost dazed, and as they neared Monica could hear him talking to the policemen.

"How many on the bus?" One officer was asking Richard, who dabbed at his bloody forehead with a handkerchief.

"Huh? Oh, um, there were twenty-five. Yeah. Twenty - five kids..."

The officer nodded, then looked down at his notes in puzzlement. "Paramedics said twenty-six."

Monica took her eyes off Richard for a moment to watch Andrew. Normally, she knew, as Angel of Death her friend would be looking for souls to escort to Heaven. So why was Andrew standing at the bus, staring into one crumpled corner?

"Twenty-six? Oh, yeah, there was another kid - "

Now Andrew's face changed, all color draining from it, a look of horrified shock.

"Younger, maybe eleven, he must have snuck on the bus before we left - "

He kneeled into the wreckage, slowly, as if the very movement pained him to his soul.

"- I think he was going to run away, but I guess he changed his mind cause he got back on the bus with the other kids..."

And, as Monica watched with in anguish, Andrew pulled a battered, familiar-looking black leather jacket, streaked with blood. His face was ashen, sick, his eyes huge with disbelief.

"Oh, Tess, no," Monica moaned, turning to her supervisor, "Not Cory... "

But Tess sadly shook her head, watching the scene with only a little less emotion than Monica.

"After he left the church, Cory decided to run away from God, and Andrew wasn't there to stop him. Richard wasn't watching who got on the bus, and as a result Cory was on the bus when it hit the train."

Pained, Monica turned back to the scene. Andrew was still there, kneeling on the ground, and the past Tess was bending over him. He had dropped the jacket and covered his face with both hands, and Tess was giving him a comforting embrace, muttering something soothing that Monica couldn't make out.

The present-day Tess shook her head. "Andrew took it very hard. He blamed himself for Cory's death, thought if he'd followed him that morning he might have made a difference. He knew he let God down, and for someone who loves God as much as Andrew does the pain of that knowledge can be unbearable."

"Tess," Monica asked softly, "Did Cory accept God's love before he died? Did he go to Heaven?"

"Andrew never found out," Tess replied,"By the time he reached the scene the boy was already gone, and Andrew couldn't bear to ask, afraid of the answer he might get."

Monica nodded, and turned back, her heart breaking to see her friend so beside himself with grief. Behind Tess and Andrew, Richard was still talking to the police.

"Now you say you didn't see the train?"

Richard was looking down, and said numbly, "I - I - no, I didn't, I just...wasn't watching, I guess..."

Andrew, still kneeling on the ground, took his hands away from his face and looked at Richard, his expression one of unbelieving anger. Then he turned back to stare at the bus, running one hand raggedly through his hair in helpless sorrow.

One officer shook his head and looked at Richard in disgust. "All these kids dead because you just weren't watching. Mister, your carelessness cost this town plenty tonight. I hope you can live with yourself."

Tess spoke as the police led Richard away. "Andrew knew Richard was responsible for letting Cory on the bus, and that his carelessness caused the crash that took Cory home too quick. He felt if Richard had been more careful, Cory would have lived and maybe Andrew would have had the time he needed to reach him. But Richard took that chance away, and our Angel boy has had a hard time dealing with it ever since that night."

Monica watched as Andrew slowly stood up, smoothing his hair and taking deep, shaky breaths. The past Tess stroked his shoulder a few times and leaned close, saying something to him in low tones which he answered with a small nod.

"Andrew did his job that night," Tess said in a voice mixed with pride and sadness, "But the pain he felt in his heart made it tough. And now - "

As Monica watched, the bus, the sirens, Andrew, the whole scene faded into the night, and they were standing alone at a dark country railroad crossing, surrounded by stars and chirping crickets.

"-now he's back in this same town again,feeling that same pain and guilt he's buried for fifteen years. He'll be leading Richard home to God soon, and he knows he can't do it with that much anger and shame locked in his heart."

"But he can't let it out?"

"He wants to, but that's what he has in common with this town, baby. He's scared of what might happen if he actually has to deal with forgiving Richard, and himself, and moving on. "

Monica shook her head and wiped her eyes. "Tess, I had no idea. What can I do to help him through this?"

Tess smiled and put her hand on Monica's shoulder. "Just do your job, baby. The rest is in God's hands."


	5. Chapter 5

At dawn the next morning Monica took a walk along the main street of the town, watching the sun rise. Above her the sky changed its hue from the deep blue of night to a crimson purple, the stars fading graciously before the coming light. It was too early for anyone to be awake, yet she noticed as she passed the vacant stores and quiet sidewalks that even at that hour the place seemed too empty and sad. She thought of a lonely child, looking for someone to play with,waiting to be loved and fulfilled. Hoping against hope that someone would notice the potential that lay behind the facade of uselessness. Like Cory, Monica thought suddenly, and sadly shook her head.

Poor Andrew! Now she understood why coming back to this place hurt him so much. Monica thought of her own failures, the times she thought she'd damaged things beyond even God's repair, and felt a pang. Weren't there times when she'd come close to giving up, just like Andrew had? Hadn't she begged Tess at one point to let her quit, rather than face her past mistakes? Hadn't she, like this town, like Beth and Richard, longed in those dark moments to just fold up and wallow in self-recrimination instead of accept the past and move on?

Yet God always helped her, Monica remembered as she watched the sun's first rays glint the treetops and gabled roofs along the street. He never gave up on her, even when she herself had. He was like the dawn, always certain to rise against the blackest night and fill it with unexpected joy.

Monica reached the end of the block, and in the growing light she could see the church three blocks down, its white steeple a glowing saffron against the azure blue of the cloudless sky. She smiled and crossed her arms. Yes, maybe God could dawn in this town again. Perhaps that was why she had been shown that vision, she mused: to understand the depths of Andrew's, Richard's, and the town's despair so she could help God lift it. Perhaps now was the time for renewal. She prayed to be used however God saw fit to that purpose, and continued her walk toward the church.

To her surprise, as she neared the brick edifice Monica saw Richard on the lawn, carefully laying mulch around newly planted bushes along the walls with a small shovel. As she approached he looked up.

"Oh!" He said in surprise, then went back to the mulch. "Didn't expect to see you until nine."

"I was going to say the same," Monica replied in amazement. "Have you been here long?"

"Oh, long enough to get the bushes in." Richard said, smiling at his work. "Didn't want to waste any time, and I don't sleep much anyways."

His beaming face made Monica think of the Richard she'd seen the night before, younger and free of the care that lined his face when she first met him. She looked at the bushes. "They're perfect."

Richard nodded silently, then leaned on his shovel and looked around. "Yeah, it's funny, but...working on this makes me feel better, like I'm still good for something. I won't charge you any more for being here early, so don't worry about your boss being mad or anything. "

"That's fine, Richard," Monica assured him, laying her hand on his arm. "I'm sure my boss is very happy that you want to spend your time making His house beautiful again."

Richard smiled - the first time Monica had ever heard him do so - and stuck the shovel back into the bag of mulch. "Ma'am, you sure are poetic. But I appreciate it."

As he bent his back into the task of mulching again, Monica looked up and saw someone crossing the street towards them. As the person came closer, she saw it was the short,spectacled woman from the municipal building. Moaning inwardly, Monica went out onto the sidewalk to meet her, and realized she couldn't remember her name.

"Hello," The woman said pleasantly, which allayed Monica's fears somewhat. The woman held out a paper bag. "Care for a doughnut?"

"Uh, no thanks." Monica replied. "Good morning, Mrs...ah..."

"Cooper," The woman supplied good-naturedly, "Mildred Cooper. Course, you didn't know my whole name the other day, the only name you heard was Mildred. Though I wouldn't expect you to remember me at all with that tornado Mrs. Stratford around." Mildred giggled, her small eyes squinting in the brightening morning sun.

"Um, good morning, Mrs. Cooper," Monica stammered, trying to guess the woman's intent. She braved a backwards glance at Richard, but he was concentrating very hard on the bushes and was at least pretending not to notice what was going on. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Oh,no," Mildred said in a sunny voice, "Just thought I'd drop by and tell you what a lovely idea this is, fixing up the church. So tell me," She said in a low voice, leaning close to Monica and looking at her meaningfully, "Have you had any problems?"

"Problems?" Monica asked, just as softly.

"You know. With him." Mildred pointed at Richard, who was busily tending to the bushes. "He's such a queer duck, always keeps to himself. I must confess I thought you were out of your mind to hire him."

"Well, he's doing a marvelous job, as you can see," Monica said, trying not to let the irritation she was beginning to feel creep into her voice. "And perhaps he wouldn't keep to himself so much if you were as nice to him as you are to me."

Mildred leaned back and cocked her head, as if this thought had never occurred to her. "Well, of course I try to be nice to everyone, but...well, after all he - he -" She blinked, looked at Richard, and stopped talking for a moment, pursing her lips in concentration. "Well...I know you're from out of town, so I guess it's hard for you to understand what we've all been through." then the broad smile returned. "But it really is nice, seeing the church all gussied up like this. Makes me think of old times. This used to be quite a neat place to live, you know." The bubbly demeanor faded a bit, and Mildred gazed at the deserted street with a melancholy sigh.

"The old times are just memories," Monica noted, "Wouldn't you rather be thinking about the future instead? It can start here, you know. Today."

Mildred blinked again, and gave Monica a look that had "queer duck" written all over it. "Yes...well...got to get to work I guess. Sure you don't want a doughnut?"

Monica shook her head. Mildred looked at Richard, and for a moment Monica thought perhaps she'd gotten through.

But no. Mildred bit her lip and shot Monica a quick, embarrassed look. "Um, you know I saw you walking with Beth Perkins yesterday. She's such a sweet girl, I knew her folks. Did she tell you she's leaving town?"

Monica shook her head. "She is?"

Mildred nodded. "She's the last of the kids who survived that accident, well I guess the memories are too much for her. They told me at the diner this morning that she's leaving just as soon as she can figure out where to go. Poor thing, she never was the same after - well, you know..." She trailed off, with an accusing look at Richard that Monica prayed he didn't see.

"Well, that would be a shame," Monica said thoughtfully, "This town will need young people like her to get back on its feet again."

"If it ever does." Mildred said with a sigh as she rolled the paper bag closed, " Well, I'd better run. Say, If you see your supervisor tell her I got a real hoot out of that form she filled out."

Monica just smiled, not wanting to betray her ignorance.

"I mean, she must have a real sense of fun to put down names like "Miss Wings" and "Angelboy" as references. She must be a real kick to work with."

Monica kept on smiling. "She is."

Mildred nodded. "Catch ya later." She waved, bag in hand, and trotted back across the street.

Monica thought for a moment, twisting her long hair. Then she turned to where Richard was kneeling, patting mulch around one of the bushes and said, "Richard, I have to go, but I'll be back to help you in a wee bit."

Richard nodded, his face blank. "You going to see Beth Perkins?"

Monica couldn't lie. "Yes."

"Don't try to talk her out of moving," Richard said, not looking at her. "Getting away from this place is the best thing that girl could do."

"We'll see." Monica said simply, and giving Richard's arm a reassuring squeeze she got up and headed down the sidewalk towards Beth's house.

* * *

A little later Monica walked up the stone steps to Beth's house. As she came to the side door, she saw that the door was open, and through the screen door she could see the large, sunny room that was being used as a painting studio, and there, standing in a paint-streaked smock, was Beth, laboring at a canvas.

Not wanting to startle her friend, Monica rapped gently on the wooden frame of the screen door. Beth's head turned, and she smiled. "Hi, Monica!" She said, and setting down her palette and brush, came to the door and opened it.

"I thought I'd come by and say hello," Monica said with a smile as she entered.

Beth looked down and wiped her hands on her smock. "Well, I hope you don't mind a little mess. I paint whenever the sun's out."

Monica stepped closer and examined the painting Beth was working on. It was the same one she'd seen before, closer to completion perhaps. "I must say, you certainly do have a gift."

"You could call it that," Beth said, picking up her brush. "You'd probably laugh if I told you I didn't have a lick of talent before the accident, but it's true. One day I can't draw a straight line with a ruler and the next..." She shook her head, obviously still puzzled. Then she looked at Monica with a curious kind of intensity. "You wanna know what happened? Remember I showed you my arm the other day?"

Monica nodded.

Beth cast her eyes on the trees outside the window, remembering. "I can still remember how much that hurt, having my arm ripped up like that. I remember lying on the pavement, it was still warm from the sun that day, feeling the asphalt on my back and just screaming inside from the pain, but I guess I was too out of it to cry much. And all those lights and people screaming..."

She paused and took a breath. Monica put a sympathetic hand on her arm, remembering herself. "You don't have to talk about it, Beth, if you don't want to."

Beth shook her head and smiled at Monica, "Oh, no, I do want to. See, I've never told anybody this next part before. I was lying there, watching the paramedic try to stop the blood, and I'm getting real dizzy and panicky and thinking I must be dying, and then..." She paused, and indicated the canvas with her brush. "And then he showed up."

Monica's eyebrows went up.

Beth laughed at her reaction and continued painting. "Yeah, I know, I'm crazy. I mean, it's not like angels really exist, but this guy...I'm getting really scared and all of a sudden this guy appears out of nowhere, and he's got this golden glow around him, and he takes my hand and looks into my eyes, and I wasn't scared anymore. In fact, I felt really good, warm and protected, I mean, he was really cute, you know? He looked just like this hot Sunday School teacher we had at the church."

Monica smiled to herself, but Beth didn't notice. She cocked her head at the painting and thought a moment. "But that wasn't it, he was really gentle and calm, even though everything was going to Hell around him, it was like - like we were in this little pocket of Heaven, and I knew I was safe there. And he told me he was from God, and it wasn't my time yet, and God had saved me for something special. Well," She added ruefully, "If you can call working in a diner special..."

Monica nodded, smiling to herself. "Then what happened?"

Beth gently dabbed more paint onto the canvas, keeping her eyes on it as if afraid to look at Monica. "He stayed with me until I drifted off. When I woke up I kept asking where's that gorgeous guy in the beige suit? But I guess I was the only one who saw him. I think," She leaned back and studied the canvas, "I think he must have just been a hallucination or something, but you know I never felt such - such intense peace as I did in that light. As you can see," Beth waved her brush at the canvasses littering the floor. "I've been spending most of my time since then trying to pin it down again."

"Well, they're lovely paintings," Monica observed again, walking over to the windowsill and lightly touching the edge of one frame, "They're the brightest thing I've seen here yet."

"Thanks." Beth said, picking up a tube of paint and squeezing a few dabs onto her painter's palette. "The way things are around here, they're probably the only bright things you'll see."

Monica turned away from the window, placing her hands together. "Actually, Beth, that's why I came to see you. Mrs. Cooper told me you're planning on moving away soon."

"Huh? Oh, well, yeah, as soon as I've saved up enough from waitressing. No reason to hang around here any longer than I have to." Beth swept the paint onto her brush and began touching up the figure's hair.

"Where will you go?" Monica asked.

Beth shrugged. "Haven't decided yet. I don't have enough to go real far."

"Well, there's a few big cities you could try." Monica suggested cagily.

Beth looked at her and wrinkled her nose. "I don't really like big cities. You never get to know people."

"Another small town, then."

Beth thought a moment. "Nah, I don't think I'd like that either. You know..." She put her palette down suddenly and walked over to the window seat and sat down, staring at the sunlight shimmering in the leaves for a moment. Then she turned to Monica and said, "You know where I really wanna go? I want to go back. I want to be here, in this town, like it was before. When everybody was all happy, and kids played ball games at the sandlot. I want to go downtown and see it like it used to be. I want the high school band to give Saturday concerts in the big gazebo at the end of main street. That's where I want to live." She looked out the window again. "But I can't. And I don't think I'll be all that happy no matter where else I go."

Monica moved quickly to sit beside Beth. "But why can't you have happiness here?"

"You know why!" Beth shot back, suddenly defensive. "I told you why. That - that accident. Everyone I knew - every thing I knew died that night. It's gone, and nobody can ever bring it back." Tears started in Beth's eyes as she glared out the window. "And I walk around, and I see things, and I remember how they used to be before that - before the accident, and I come home, and I cry. That's all I do lately. And it's got to stop, so I figure if I leave it'll go away. But you know, maybe it won't, and then what? I'll be carrying this around for the rest of my life, knowing what a wonderful place this was before all this happened, and hating myself because I got to live and my friends all died and I don't even know why. Why did I get to live? Why me? I wasn't pretty, or smart, or popular. I don't get it. Why me?" She looked at Monica with bewildered eyes. Then she blinked, as if coming back to herself, and looked down in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I - I just...sorry."

"Oh, don't be," Monica soothed, laying a hand on Beth's arm, "I'm here to help you."

Beth sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I know. You're just being nice, but...you can't help. You don't even know."

"You know," Monica ventured gently,"I recently spoke to somebody else, who talks about this town much like you do. He remembers the good times, and also grieves for it, just like you do. So you see, you're not alone, Beth."

"Oh, yeah?" Beth replied. "Who?"

"Richard Paxton."

Beth snapped back with a bark of disgust. "What! That creep caused all this."

Monica nodded. "He knows he did, and he told me how sorry he is."

"Sorry!" Beth stood up, angrily striding to her canvas. "He should be a lot more than sorry. He ruined everything for this town!"

Monica stood slowly. "I know, Beth, but sometimes beautiful things can be built on ruins. God Himself has built temples from shattered clay. And he can rebuild this one too."

"Yeah, well," Beth grabbed her paints and jabbed at the canvas. "That jerk wrecked my life and everybody else's, and it would take a miracle to rebuild anything out of - out of -"

Beth stopped and stared at the figure on her canvas. It was glowing - no, the glow wasn't coming from the canvas, but rather being reflected on it, reflected from -Beth turned, and her mouth dropped open.

Monica stood there, in front of the window just as she had been a moment before, but now she was bathed in a beautiful, transcendent light that gleamed in her auburn hair and permeated the air in the room with a rich, warm presence. Her face radiated joy and love.

"Don't be afraid, Beth," Monica intoned kindly, "It's time you knew - I'm an angel, sent by God."

Beth blinked, then swallowed hard. Finally, she stammered, "Am I going to die now?"

Monica smiled reassuringly, "No, Beth, I'm not that kind of angel. I've been sent to help you."

Beth blinked again, and said,"Help me?"

Monica ventured a little closer, carefully because she could tell Beth was somewhat spooked. "God does indeed have a special plan for you, Beth. There's a full, rich life waiting for you, right here, but you have to accept God's plan before you can live it."

Beth nodded a little. "What's God's plan?"

"The first thing you need to do is heal," Monica revealed, "And the first step in healing is forgiveness."

"Forgiveness? Forgive who?"

"Yourself, first," Monica came a step closer, "For surviving that terrible accident. God knows the pain you've felt since that night, that you don't understand why you lived and your friends died. He knows how much you miss them. And He grieves the shortness of their time on Earth as much as you do."

"But He let them die." Beth said tightly, blinking back tears.

Monica shook her head. "God didn't want them to die, any more than He wanted this town to die. But God didn't cause that accident, a man did - "

"You mean Richard Paxton did." Beth spat, her face hardening. "And now I suppose you're going to tell me I need to forgive him too."

"I'm not going to tell you what you know so well already. That because of his carelessness you've lost your friends. That you've spent fifteen years in bitterness and hatred because of what he took away from you. That what happened that night created a big emptiness inside of you that you don't think anything can fill. But, Beth, I will tell you that God knows what you've gone through and He wants to fill that emptiness, fill it with the waters of joy and abundance, fill you as He did when you were little, don't you remember?"

Despite her tears, Beth smiled. "I used to love going to church. I'd run around singing 'Jesus Loves Me' all the time. And I believed it too. Then," She gave a sad little shrug, "I guess after the accident I just stopped believing. The pastor left, the church closed...I thought God gave up on me." She paused to wipe away a tear.

"But He didn't, Beth," Monica stepped closer, and held out her hands,"He's been here, all this time, trying to get in and fill that emptiness. He's standing at the door of your heart, But He can't get in, because the bitterness and resentment you feel for Richard and what happened are still pressing the door shut."

"But what can I do?" Beth asked helplessly. "I don't want to keep God out, but - but I can't just forgive Richard Paxton, just like that. He cost me too much."

"Yes," Now Monica moved in and placed a guiding hand on Beth's arm, "He did cost you a lot, nearly everything you had, that terrible night. But don't you see, God's trying to tell you that what you've been paying since then is interest. All the anger, the pain, you can let go of it and start over, with God."

"Start over?"

Monica smiled again. "That's another part of the plan. The talents that God has given you are truly special gifts. You can use them to do the one thing you've told me you really want to do. You can help make this town whole again, as God wants you to be whole."

Beth looked at her paintings, all around, at the one on the easel. "God's saying I can do all that, just by forgiving one person? That's it?"

"That's everything," Monica revealed. "It's all the joy of God's creation, to forgive. Once you've done that, well...then God can open that door you've been pushing against so hard and come in."

Beth smiled, obviously still unsure about the whole thing, but her eyes told Monica she wanted to accept it. Tentatively, Beth held one hand up, towards Monica's hair. "That light around you." She said.

"Yes," Monica acknowledged. "You told me you've felt it before."

Beth nodded, a small look of awe on her face. "It's so warm. Is it God?"

"It's His love. And it's for you. All you have to do is ask for it."

Beth nodded again, apparently thinking.

She was still holding her hand up to that wonderful glow when there was a small, insistent scratch at the side door.

Beth blinked and turned her head in puzzlement. Monica brought her glow down and, going to the door, opened it.

There on the concrete stoop sat a little black and white dog, a mutt really, with pointed ears and a wagging tail. In his mouth he carried a folded piece of paper. It was Tess' dog.

Beth grinned. "Is he an angel too?"

"That depends on who you ask." Monica replied lightly, leaning down and taking the paper from the dog's mouth.

As Beth bent to scratch the dog's ears, Monica unfolded the note and read it.

"MONICA - PICK UP CARRYOUT AT DINER AND MEET ME AT THE CEMETERY - TESS"

Monica looked up from the note. "I'm sorry, Beth, I have to go."

Beth stood up. "Is it from God?" She asked sincerely.

"No, but it might as well be." She put a hand on Beth's arm. "Are you all right?"

Beth nodded, looking back into the living room, and let out a huge breath. "It's pretty weird, you know, but...yeah, I guess. You've given me something to think about, anyway. Thanks."

Monica nodded, gave her a reassuring smile, and said, "Let me know what you decide."

"I will." As Monica turned to go, Beth suddenly said, "Monica?"

She turned back.

"The hot Sunday School teacher? He was really an angel too?"

Monica nodded, smiling.

"Huh."

Monica followed Tess' dog out the door and down the walk. As she turned back to wave goodbye, Monica saw Beth looking not at her, but at her own hand, feeling it gently with the other as if remembering the warmth she felt. And as she continued down the walk, Monica's smile was especially hopeful.


	6. Chapter 6

The trees in the cemetery were in full flower, Monica noticed as she came up the gravel walk that led between two iron gates that marked the cemetery's entrance. white and violet and pink, the trees fluttered in the spring sunshine, gently dropping their soft petals on the weathered tombstones beneath them. It was really a very pretty place for a cemetery, built in a time when such places were designed for contemplation and beauty as much as for burial. Monica walked up a small hill, then found herself gazing on a small lake lined with weeping willows and white-pillared mausoleums. Monica shifted the small white paper bag she had gotten from the diner into one hand and, shielding her eyes against the sun, surveyed the quiet scene before her.

"What is it about holding those bags," Asked Tess' voice behind her, "That makes you go all quiet and stand still?"

Monica turned. Tess was standing beneath a gloriously pink flowering tree, smiling quizzically.

Monica held up the bag, "Here you go, Tess. I picked up your order liked you asked me to."

"Oh, that's not for me." Tess said firmly. "It's for you."

"For me?" Monica replied in confusion.

"Yes," Tess replied. "You need to take what's in that bag to a friend of ours who's discouraged."

Tess pointed, and Monica turned to see Andrew on the opposite side of the lake, half-hidden by the willow tree he was sitting under. His hands were clasped beneath his chin, and even from across the lake Monica could see he was deep in thought.

"Angel-boy is looking to get himself in serious trouble," Tess rumbled, "He's letting himself get buried in regret and grief. He's going to have a job to do pretty soon, and no way can he do it right in the frame of mind he's in."

Monica glanced at the marble stones around them. "Is Richard going to die soon?"

Tess nodded soberly. "Yes, and Andrew knows it's God's will that he lead Richard home, but he can't do it with a heart as heavy as the one he's carrying."

"But Tess," Monica motioned helplessly with the bag, "What can I do?"

"Talk to him," Tess placed her hands on Monica's shoulders and gently turned her in Andrew's direction, "You can speak the truth like nobody's business, and right now the truth is what that boy needs to hear. You'll know what to say when the time comes, now go on."

Monica knew better than to argue, but even as she walked up the gentle slope and around the lake to where Andrew was sitting she prayed for guidance. How could she lift her friend's heart when fifteen years' worth of sorrow and guilt were dragging it down?

Andrew barely moved when she came near and sat down just behind him. His head turned slightly, just a bit, then moved back to stare at the lake in silence. Monica paused, then without a word placed the paper bag beside Andrew and sat back again. He looked at it in puzzlement, then back at her, smiling in spite of the pain she saw in his eyes. Then he reached out, took the bag and opened it, cocking his head to one side as he did so.

"Molasses cookies." He said, a mixture of surprise and appreciation in his voice.

Monica slid an arm around his shoulder and leaned close, trying to be a soothing presence. "Tess said they were your favorite."

Andrew took two cookies out of the bag and handed one to Monica. Removing her arm from around his shoulder, she scooted up to sit next to him and took a bite out of the cookie. Andrew, however, didn't taste his but merely stared at it thoughtfully, turning it slowly in his hands. Uncertain what to do, Monica sat quietly and looked at the lake.

After what seemed an eternity, Andrew gave a small sigh and said softly, "Monica, I've been distant lately, and I'm sorry. I've...had a lot on my mind."

Monica studied the water and replied in a similar tone. "I know, Andrew, it's been difficult for you. God showed me what happened to you here."

Andrew shot her a quick, surprised look, then just as quickly looked back down at the grass. After another long pause he said, "Monica, I pray you never know how it feels to fail God the way I have. To know - " Andrew paused, and swallowed hard, "- to know there's a soul that might be lost to God because I didn't trust His judgment."

Monica put her arm around Andrew's shoulders again. Softly she said, "Andrew, God knows you did your best with Cory. You showed him God's love, but he had to open his heart to God himself - you couldn't do that."

"But I should have!" Andrew burst out, suddenly turning and looking at Monica with heartbroken eyes. "Monica, who knows better than I do that God always has a purpose? I've been sent to the old, the sick, the afflicted - I'm the one who gets to lead them to God, and hear them rejoice at being called home. But - but I've also had to take young people, healthy people, those who thought they had long lives before them. How could I do that, with joy in my heart, if I didn't know that God has a purpose for everything?"

Monica nodded. "Yes, I know, and you tried to tell that to Cory - "

"And I failed." Andrew's shoulders sagged, and he ran one hand through his hair - Monica started as she realized she'd seen that gesture before, the night of the accident. "I failed God, Monica. Cory needed me, and I abandoned him, I was frustrated when he fought me, angry, and instead of asking God for His help I just stormed off, like a child, like a petulant child. And when Cory got on that bus I wasn't watching him, and because of that... " He trailed off.

"You couldn't have known about the accident," Monica offered consolingly,"Not if it wasn't God's will that you know."

Andrew stared at the grass and shook his head. "I have such pain in my heart, Monica. I don't know what to do with it. You know, usually when I lead people home to God I feel the same joy they do, because I know what's ahead of them."

"But it's different with Richard?"

Andrew nodded. "I know what I'm being called to do. If it's God's will that Richard Paxton be taken to Heaven, I'll do it. But...I look at Richard, and I see that night. I see all those kids, the bus, and...and...how can I find the joy I'm going to need to feel for Richard? I should feel happy for him if he goes to be with God, but instead all I feel is..." He trailed off again, and searched the sparkling water of the lake, as if the words were there.

Monica laid a loving hand on her friend's arm. "Andrew, I can only imagine the pain you must feel. I guess people probably think angels don't have any problems at all, but...but you must know that if God has found it in His heart to forgive Richard's sin, his carelessness that cost this town so dearly, then surely it is right that we angels should rejoice also. After all, every soul in Heaven is a blessing to us all."

"But what about Cory's soul?" Andrew asked, his voice thick with emotion. "When I lead Richard to God's presence, how can I stop myself from - from remembering that Cory is separated from God forever because of him. Because of me." Andrew corrected himself quickly, his voice catching as he looked down at his hands.

Monica put her arm around Andrew again. "Now you mustn't think that. I'm sure Cory came to know God before he died. Why, he's probably in Heaven right now - "

But Andrew was shaking his head mournfully. "When Cory ran away from me, he was mad at God. Mad at me. And I let him go. I let him go..." Andrew ran both hands into his long blond hair, leaning forward and closing his eyes against against the memory.

Monica bent her head close to Andrew's ear and spoke softly. "Andrew, please, you need peace. Before this grief overtakes you you must let God ease your burden. Fifteen years is long enough to carry this load."

"I know," Andrew said, lifting his head to stare out at the lake. "I know, and I've asked God's forgiveness a million times, but I don't know how to stop feeling this pain. I cost one of God's children an eternity of His presence. How can I - " Andrew paused again,and shook his head. "How can there be forgiveness for that?"

Monica leaned in close, squeezed his shoulder. "God forgives you, Andrew. Before you even ask for it. Can't you forgive yourself then, and Richard?"

After a long pause Andrew said, "I want to, Monica, I really do, but...it goes so deep. I've never had to forgive so much before, and I'm not sure...I know how to do it." Andrew folded his hands thoughtfully and stared at the lake, his eyes full of confusion.

Monica laid her head close to Andrew's and thought for a moment. Absentmindedly she took another bite of the cookie she still held in her left hand, and looked at it. Looked at it again. And lifted her head up in revelation.

She waited until Andrew looked her way again and asked, still quietly, "Do you like the gift I brought you?"

Andrew blinked at her, a bit confused, then sighed again. "I'm sorry, Monica, I don't have much of an appetite right now."

"Well, that's all right." Monica said gently, then studied the cookie in her hand closely. "Tell me, Andrew, do you know how they make these things? They're very good."

Andrew eyed the cookie that Monica held, and thought for a moment. "I don't know how they're made, but they are good."

"Tess said they were your favorite."

Andrew nodded, and went back to gazing at the lake. "I guess they are."

"Well, how can these molasses cookies be your favorite if you don't even know how they're made?"

Andrew shot her a bewildered look. "I don't understand." He said flatly.

Monica smiled and laid a hand over Andrew's. "Don't you see? You're saying you can't forgive yourself, or Richard, because you don't know how. But isn't that like saying that you can't enjoy one of these - "she held up the cookie "Without knowing how the eggs and the flour and the other ingredients combined to make it? You like molasses cookies, Andrew, not because you know how they're made. You like them because they're good. They bring you pleasure and joy. And it's the same with God's forgiveness. In the end, it doesn't matter whether you understand just how forgiveness works, or why. What matters is the peace, the perfect peace of God's mercy and grace, which is there for everyone."

Andrew had sat staring at Monica, his eyes still veiled in uncertainty, and when she finished he looked back down at the ground. Gently, Monica leaned over and once more placed her hand on Andrew's shoulder.

"God knows your heart, Andrew. He wants to lift it. Please let Him."

Andrew looked at her, and Monica could see a little of the Andrew she knew in the small crooked smile he gave her.

"Thank you," He said softly.

Monica smiled back, her own heart lifting a little, and she reached into the bag and offered Andrew a cookie. He took it, smiled again, and taking a bite, raised his arm and gave Monica a grateful hug.

* * *

The sun was bending towards midafternoon when Monica made her way back to the church, carryout lemonades in hand. Richard was still there, but instead of working he was sitting on the concrete steps that led up to the front door. Monica smiled as she approached, and was gratified to see Richard smile back wanly.

"Taking a break?" Monica asked as she handed him the lemonade. "You deserve one. The lawn looks fabulous."

Richard nodded in satisfaction. "The place is almost done. Got kind of winded, thought I'd better sit down a while."

Monica frowned and ventured a closer look at her assignment. He did look winded, paler than yesterday, and even though the day was cool, perspiration shone on his brow. She remembered Tess' warning about Richard not having a lot of future left and knew, suddenly, sadly, that it was indeed true. Sighing inwardly, she sat down on the step next to Richard and sipped at her drink.

Richard seemed deep in thought, so Monica held her silence and gazed with him down the sun-dappled main street. She thought of the vision again, the town as it once was, and wondered if Richard was remembering the same thing - children playing, strolling mothers, the air full of promise and life. She stole a look at his worn, tired face, but couldn't read it.

Finally Richard said, "I...was thinking earlier. About what you said yesterday. About letting go and living again and all that."

Monica nodded.

"Well, it's too late for me, you know. But I was thinking," Richard paused to sip the lemonade, "I wish, I ...hope this church does open again. People need stuff like that, they need hope. I didn't used to think so, I guess, but while you were gone I must have seen a dozen people come by here and kind of pause, like seeing this place cleaned up made them think maybe it was gonna come back."

Monica smiled hopefully. "But it's not too late for you, Richard. You can start over too."

"Yeah, I was thinking about that too." Richard looked down and gave a rueful smile. "I've been worse than dead to this town for fifteen years, got used to it. I'll never be able to make up for what I did, and I still don't think God wants anything to do with me but - " He looked at the trimmed lawn, the bright flowers bending gently in the breeze, "But it's funny, working this job kind of makes me feel like maybe I can make it up, a little. Like maybe, if I clean up the church and do it up proper, someday some minister will come into town and see it, and maybe he'll want to open it back up again. I guess if I thought that might happen it would give my sorry excuse for a life some meaning at least, some kind of starting over." He blinked, took a drink, looked down. "Sounds foolish to you, I guess."

"No, it sounds lovely," Monica assured him, laying a hand on his arm.

Richard sat back, took a deep breath. "Well, I just wanted to thank you for asking me to do this. Made me feel a lot better about things than I thought it would."

Monica gave his arm a squeeze. "I'm so glad."

Richard drank some more lemonade, looked at Monica. "When I'm done with the lawn, you're done with me, right?"

Monica gave a little shrug. "I don't know. My orders might change, and I'll need your help again."

"I hope so. Helping here, it's...it's..." Richard turned his eyes to the church spire, gleaming strongly in the afternoon sun. After a moment he turned his eyes back down and shook his head. 'I don't know. Well, back to work." He took one more drink, and set the empty cup on the step. He started to stand, faltered a bit, and Monica helped him up.

He gave her a crooked smile. "Little stiff yet." He went over to where his tools were waiting.

Monica watched him, then walked over to the tools and said, "Let me help you."

Richard nodded, bent over, suddenly straightened.

"Cleansing. That's the word I was looking for. It's cleansing."

Monica smiled at him, her heart soaring within her, and picked up a rake.

The afternoon melted into early evening, the kind of violet twilight special to spring. The lifegiving strength of the day gave way to a soft, luminescent glow that settled in the sky and the trees, and basked the church and everything around it in a misty, faintly magical haze.

Monica crossed her arms and watched the last rays of the sun slip upward from the church steeple. Behind her she heard Richard placing the last of the gardening tools into his large wheelbarrow, and looked at him. The lawn was finished, trim and new and reborn, and she could feel his hesitation at leaving, now that there was nothing left for him to come back for. He was looking around as well, wiping his hands on his torn work pants and nodding in satisfaction.

"You've done a fine job, Richard," Monica offered as he came near. "My boss is very pleased with you, I'm sure."

Richard shrugged. "Well, I hope so. I did my best."

Monica gently laid a hand on his shoulder and looked into those haunted eyes. "I know so. He told me to tell you what you've done here is very important. You have no idea."

Richard looked down, hunched his shoulders depreciatively. "All I did was clean up the lawn..."  
"Is that what you think?" Monica smiled and walked to a nearby tree, newly planted and bursting with fragrant blossoms. "And if I told you that this little tree you planted today will someday hear the laughter of children as they climb its branches, and be the bearer of spring bouquets for young lovers, and shower its petals on newlyweds coming out of those doors, would you think it was such a small thing then?"

Richard's face grew puzzled, and he smiled uncertainly. "You think that could happen?"

Monica nodded. "I know God never wants anyone to be without hope. You said it yourself, Richard, the people here need hope, and seeing this church reborn is giving it to them. If you ever wondered how to make amends for the mistakes you've made...well, I think you just took the first step."

Richard gave another look to the beautiful lawn, now turning dusky lavender in the gathering night, and sighed. "Well, it's getting chilly. Time to go home."

* * *

At that moment, across the town, Beth stood before the angel portrait she'd been painting and contemplated the figure. She picked up a tube of paint, squeezed a little out, put the tube down. The fading sun had long since made the room dim, so she had set up several candles around the room to give the natural light she needed to paint. The soft light glowed dully off the canvas, just like -

Beth shook her head, trying to clear the memory of her encounter with - with what? An angel? Or some kind of post-traumatic hallucination? She'd spent all day trying to talk herself out of accepting what Monica had said, trying to convince herself that it couldn't have happened, you didn't see angel while you were alive, only after you were dead...

Beth shook her head again and picked up the brush, mixing white and yellow to touch up the hair around the figure's head. Forgive, Monica had said. Forgive yourself, forgive Richard. Start living again.

But what did that mean? She never stopped living, Beth decided as she tapped the brush to the canvas. She'd kept on, staying in town even after the other girls had moved away, walking by the crumbling storefronts and shuttered buildings every day and remembering. Somebody had to. Wasn't it her responsibility, to remember, to keep the flame so nobody ever forgot the others, the ones who weren't as lucky as she was? It was her duty. The young girl who wanted to grow up and laugh and play had died on that night, leaving only the battered, dazed shell to carry on.

Beth blinked; wait, she hadn't meant that. She wasn't some hollow-eyed wreck, staring at the walls. She had a life, sure she did, she had a few friends and a place of her own, and her paintings...

She looked around, at the room she was in, a bare room piled with paintings, laying all over, stacks of carefully rendered oils and acrylics no one had ever seen, hoarded against - against what? Why did she always feel so - so tight, so coiled-up, like she was always pushing against something she couldn't see? She could have left the town long ago, should have really, but didn't. Why?

Slowly Beth set her brush down and went over to her bookshelf, nestled in a corner by an overstuffed chair and a reading lamp. There were lots of books, mostly from her high school days, Nancy Drew and Little House, some paperbacks. She reached down to the bottom shelf and pulled out a large, narrow, hardbound volume. Carefully Beth wiped the layers of dust from the embossed leatheresque cover, which read in black, blocky graphic type "The Sentinel 1982". For no reason she could think of, Beth lifted her head and looked around, at the candles and the paintings and the pinpoints of candlelight reflecting from the windows, and took a deep breath. Then she tremulously took hold of the hard, flat cover and slowly opened the book.

There was a deep cracking noise as the ancient glue and binding gave way for the first time in fifteen years. The scent of printing ink and fresh paper, trapped in the pages, came forth as if she'd just bought the book yesterday. Through tear-filled eyes Beth gazed at the inside front cover, all the notes and well-wishes scrawled by her friends, friends fifteen years gone. "2 good 2 be 4gotten". "Friends 4ever". "See Ya". She began to flip through the book, freshman class, sophomore, feathered Farrah Fawcett cuts, shaggy Johnny Cougar hair on the boys, polo shirts, tight blue jeans. Varsity, drama club, prom. Senior class, twenty-six kids, just her and two other girls left now.

Sitting down hard on the chair, Beth blinked at the smiling faces before her, and a tear slipped down her cheek and fell onto the page. They didn't deserve to die, not that way, not any way, but they did. They did and she was left and - she glanced across the page and saw her own photograph, herself at seventeen, and Beth stared at it in wonder. Huge, happy eyes stared back at her, still the short wavy hair tied up in a thin ribbon, wearing her favorite Gunne Sax shirt, all lace and satin ribbon. Through her tears, Beth smiled. She'd bought that shirt to try and impress Eddie Branson. He never noticed, and then he died with the others. And she was left alone.

Shaking, Beth ran her hand over the photographs, as if by doing that she could touch them all again, or go through the page somehow and be back there again, the last happy time she ever knew. That was why, she decided suddenly, catching her breath. That was why she never left, never tried to get over what happened. Why bother when nothing could ever make her feel good again, the way she did before the accident? She looked ahead and saw nothing but emptiness. At least in the memories she felt something.

Sniffing, Beth wiped the tears that were streaming down her face. She was weak, she knew it, and maybe there was something to what Monica said about forgiving the past and everything, but then what? No matter what she did, the past would still be there, and as much as she wanted to she couldn't bring her friends back, even if she did try to make herself feel better about living. Shuddering with misery, Beth stood and began to close the book.

As she did so a piece of paper slipped out of the pages and onto the floor. Puzzled, Beth wiped her eyes again and picked the piece of paper up. It was still white, and a knife-sharp fold marked where the paper had been folded, pressed flat, for fifteen years. A receipt, Beth thought. But no, it was a handwritten note. Curious, Beth unfolded it and read.

_Hi Beth_

_Hope you find this before anybody else. I'm going to spend the summer with my cousin in Brecksville, but wanted to tell you before I go that you're the prettiest girl in the class. I'm telling you so you don't forget me over the summer. Don't forget where we met. We'll meet there again when summer is over before I go to State. Be happy!_

_Till then_

_Eddie_

_PS Don't show this to anybody!_

Beth stood breathless, stunned. Eddie must have stuck the note in the yearbook when he signed it. It had sat there, unread. She had no idea.

_Don't forget where we met_...had she? No, of course not, the church, but...Eddie thought she was the prettiest girl in class? Beth felt numb, suddenly jittery. She never knew. Don't forget me, the note pleaded, and she hadn't, not in fifteen years.

Beth pored over the note, forgetting the book and the painting and everything else. Eddie thought she was cute, and he was dead. She'd accepted that fact long ago, his death, and never really loved anybody else. But she'd always thought it was a one-sided crush, and now...she suddenly felt creepy, as if the note had come from beyond the grave. She put it down quickly,and the yearbook beside it, and walked nervously back to the painting.

The figure in the painting was almost finished; the halo of light around the head needed a few touches, and the beams of light could use some highlighting...Beth turned to pick up her palette, and noticed her hands were shaking. _We'll meet there again... _no we won't, Beth thought morosely, the church is abandoned, it's empty and forgotten. Like the town. Like me.

God has a plan, Monica's voice suddenly chimed in Beth's head. Startled, Beth looked around, but she was alone. She looked at the canvas again. God can fill that emptiness...

Without realizing exactly what she was doing, Beth reached out and touched the canvas, the warm light around the figure. _ I am empty,_ she thought. _ I'm empty and alone and I don't want to be anymore._ _ I still don't know why I didn't die, but if there's something I'm supposed to be doing with my life...God? If you're there, can You tell me what it is? Because I think I've been living back there long enough, and if You need my help, I want to give it. because I am grateful, even if I don't act like it._ Beth paused, bit her lip. _And I guess I'm supposed to forgive Richard Paxton too. I know if an angel tells me I should, I should, but it still hurts. _Beth felt the sting of tears, bit her lip harder. _It hurts so bad, but I know I've got to let it go. Please help me forgive him._

Beth blinked and looked around. Night had almost fallen, and the reflected candlelight shone like stars in the darkened room. Among the stars Beth saw Monica, standing by the bookcase bathed in that luminous golden light.

Beth smiled, wiped the tears from her eyes.

Monica came forward. "So how do you feel?" She asked softly.

"Oh," Beth breathed, still dabbing at her eyes, "I don't know. Kind of like I can breathe again Did I do it right?"

"You did just fine," Monica assured her, "But you know it's only a beginning. God's given you a new life, one you never had even before the accident, but it's up to you to live it."

"I know. You told me God had a plan for me.I think maybe - " Beth stole a glance at the closed yearbook, the folded note sitting on the chair. "Maybe it has something to do with the church?"

Monica smiled. "Search your heart, Beth, and pray to God. He'll show you the way."

"And I think too," Beth looked around, somewhat embarrassed. "About God's plan, well...I have too many of these paintings, and nobody's ever seen them. You think..." Her eyes met Monica's, glistening and scared and exalted all at once. "You think maybe Mr. Paxton might want one?"


	7. Chapter 7

Richard eased himself into the old, battered easy chair in the corner of his living room. The evening sky outside was darkening from lighter to dark blue, but still there was only one light on in the little room, the reading lamp beside the chair. He sat, as he always did, in that small pool of light, and as he always did stared out the window at nothing in particular, ruminating on the day. It had been a good one, the first good one perhaps in a long time, and he was tired, achy, and breathing was a little harder than it usually was, but still he felt...not good maybe, but better.

He thought he heard a knock on the door, cocked his head; but no, he never had visitors, and dismissed it as a trick of the wind. A moment later he thought he heard another knock, louder. Confused, he painfully hoisted himself out of the chair and, going to the front door, opened it.

"Monica." He said in surprise, and flipped on the porch light. "What are you - "

He stopped as someone else stepped out from behind Monica, a young woman he instantly recognized. He knew it was Beth Perkins, but didn't say her name, couldn't, just stood and stared at her. She looked scared, unsure, and didn't say anything either at first either, but after a strengthening look from Monica Beth stammered, "Hello, Mr. Paxton. Remember me?"

Richard blinked, nodded dumbly, still too shocked to utter a word. He stood back, stumbling just a bit, and let the two women into the living room.

Beth looked at a square parcel she clutched in her hands. "Um..I've kind of never done this before, so I'm probably not real good at it, but...Monica told me it would be a good idea if we - if we talked about...things, you know." She stopped and heaved a sigh, and now lifted her head and looked at Richard. "I just wanted to say, I've been thinking a lot lately, and - "Heaving another sigh - "And I know everybody around here's been giving you the cold shoulder, and I know how alone you've been because, because I've been alone too, and I know how it feels when something you've been through drags on you like that..."

Richard was shaking his head. "You should never have gone through that. It was all my fault." Beth pushed forward. "I - I know, and for a long time I hated you, and I blamed you for what happened here, but - tonight I kind of asked for some help in getting over it and - and I'm not too sure how the whole thing works, but if it'll help you maybe then - then I want say that ...I forgive you for what happened that night."

She finished the sentence uncertainly, and keeping her head down looked at Richard as if unsure of her words. He stood there, unmoving, not uttering a sound.

"Um - " She cast a quick glance at Monica, "I thought - Monica told me you really didn't have anything on your walls, so I brought this with me. I kind of paint some." She looked at the parcel, then awkwardly thrust it toward him. "Here."

Richard blinked at the parcel, took it as if he was sleepwalking. Trembling, he unwrapped the brown paper. It was a small painting, a silvery-white dove fluttering against a bright blue sky, a wispy green olive branch held in its beak.

Richard gazed at it in awe. "It's beautiful." He said quietly.

"I thought you might like it," Beth said quickly, "It's - a peace offering I guess. Here - "

She walked over to the easy chair in the pool of light, and placed her hand on the black-bordered picture that hung behind the chair. Taking it from its nail, she looked at it sadly.

"I can't lie to you, Mr. Paxton," Beth said in a tremulous voice as she studied those young faces, "What happened back then still really hurts. I really miss my friends. But you know what? I don't think they want us to mourn for them anymore. I think maybe they want us to be happy again. I know Eddie does. I think he's - " She gently placed the photograph on the seat of the chair. "I think they're all waiting to meet us, at the church... and at the record store, and the candy store...they're waiting for us in tomorrow. And that's where I want to be from now on. Don't you?"

Swallowing hard, Richard approached Beth and handed her the painting. She accepted it and placed it on the nail. They looked at each other, two silhouetted figures in that pool of light, then Beth reached out and gave Richard a gentle hug, which he returned.

Monica, who had lingered behind in the shadows, smiled at the scene before her and quietly slipped out the front door. Once outside, she spied Tess standing beneath the trees and approached her, beaming.

"I think Beth and Richard are going to be just fine," She sighed happily, "I think they've taken the first step."

"And just in time," Tess intoned knowingly. "If Beth had waited till tomorrow, she would have been too late."

Monica gave her a surprised, then dismayed look, then turned her head back to the door. Through it she could see Beth and Richard talking, the light from the lamp surrounding them, and, she knew, another light surrounding them as well. She couldn't see it but she could definitely feel it.

A thought occurred. Monica turned to Tess once more. "Have you heard from Andrew?"

Tess nodded. "I think he's taking care of some unfinished business in the cemetery..."

* * *

From his place on the shore of the small lake in the cemetery, Andrew watched the last glimmering of the setting sun. It was nighttime now; the stars began to glint in the cobalt sky, twinkling through the tree branches as they sighed in the warm breeze. Slowly Andrew stood and put his hands in his pockets, staring silently at the gently rippling water. Then he turned his eyes Heavenward, to the shimmering stars and the blue-white clouds that veiled them in misty auras of light.

_God, _he prayed silently, _I need to ask for Your forgiveness. I've been having trouble accepting Your purpose. I thought - I thought I could make Cory understand how much you loved him, but when it wasn't happening I...I lost patience. I let You down. You know how much I've hurt since then, but...I need to feel the peace of Your forgiveness now. I know I asked for it before, but I guess I just wasn't ready to accept it and now..." _Andrew sighed and looked over the cemetery, the lights of the town beyond, the stars. _ "Now I think I am. Because it's time, It's time to move on. So, if You can find it in Your heart, please forgive Your faltering servant. And God, help me when it's time to take Richard Paxton home. I need to forgive him, God, but it's so hard. Help me see him as You do, one of Your children whom You love as much as you do the most perfect saint. Where there is pain and sorrow in my heart, replace it with joy that I might bring him to Your presence with gladness. Release me from the past, that I may show him Your triumphant eternity. Amen._

Sighing softly, Andrew lifted his head. The sun was completely set now; the cemetery was bathed in brilliant starlight, casting a luminous blue glow over the lake. As he studied it, Andrew saw Tess and Monica approaching him.

Monica reached him first. He smiled a little and held his hand out to her, which she took with a reassuring squeeze. Tess came up behind Monica and said softly. "You know you got a job to do, Angel-boy."

Andrew looked out onto the lake again and nodded. "Yes, I know."

Monica noticed Andrew's tone was lighter, not full of despair as before. She said, "Are you feeling better?"

"With God's help," Andrew admitted, turning towards his friends. "And yours. You helped me see that I didn't have to hang onto this forever. Maybe it's time to let it go. Move on. And maybe someday I'll be able to accept what happened to Cory without too much pain."

Monica smiled sympathetically and squeezed Andrew's hand again. "And what about Richard?"

Andrew looked down. "If Richard Paxton has asked for forgiveness from his heart, God has given it. And if He gives it, I will lead Richard to God's presence."

Monica cocked her head. "But have you forgiven him?"

Andrew looked at her, and even in the dim light she could see a trace of sadness. Andrew looked at her, looked at Tess, and said quietly, "With God's help, I guess anything is possible. Now if you'll excuse me, I... have a job to do."

With that, Andrew dropped Monica's hand and, giving them both a farewell nod, walked quickly out of the cemetery and beyond their view.

Monica watched him go, shaking her head in confusion. "I must confess, Tess, that sometimes I just don't understand God's ways. I mean, Andrew isn't the only angel of death. It seems cruel to make him lead Richard home, and put him through so much pain, if there's nothing to be gained by it."

"Don't you go questioning God's judgment," Tess admonished, kindly but sternly, "If He wants Angel-boy to be the one, there's got to be a reason for it. We'll just have to wait and find out what it is."

Nodding, but still confused, Monica bit her lip and looked out on the quiet water.

* * *

Richard eased back in the big, ratty old easy chair and once again picked Beth's painting up and admired it. He just couldn't leave it on the nail behind the chair; he had taken it off, and propped it up on the little table by the chair, picking it up now and again to study it. The beauty of it made him forget somewhat the strange dizziness he'd felt all day, the pain in his chest. He hadn't said anything about it but...he set the painting down again and gazed at it thoughtfully.

After a while he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he noticed someone else was in the room, standing in the corner in the shadows. He didn't move, and barely blinked until the figure strode forward. Then his jaw dropped open and he said, "You!"

Andrew worked hard against the pain he still felt in his heart at seeing Richard again, as close to him as he was the night of the accident. Praying as hard as he ever had, Andrew bit his lip as the golden glow encircled him and said, "Mr. Paxton - "

Before he could get out another word, Richard lurched out the chair and dropped to his knees, clasping his hands together fervently, and cried, "Please forgive me!"

Andrew sighed inwardly. This wasn't going to be easy. "Mr. Paxton, I'm not God. My name is Andrew, and I'm - "

"I know who you are," Richard said quickly, cutting Andrew off.

Andrew blinked, a bit surprised. "You do?"

Richard nodded. "You're an angel, right?"

A little thrown, Andrew paused, nodded, then continued, "If you seek forgiveness from God, you'll have to ask Him yourself. I can't grant it. I'm a messenger, sent from God to take you into His presence."

Richard didn't seem to be listening. "I know you're not God. I asked for God's forgiveness a long time ago, well, I don't know if He ever did hear me or not. But right now it's not His forgiveness I want. It's yours."

Andrew's head began to hurt. Intrigued though, he asked, "Why mine?"

Richard sat back on his knees and looked at Andrew sadly. "I must have seen you in the church a dozen times, I didn't know what you were. I thought you were a Sunday School teacher. I saw you with the kids, how good you were with them. I should have guessed."

Andrew felt himself growing impatient. Usually the trip to Heaven would be over by now. "Mr. Paxton - "

"Please hear me out." The old man begged. "You see, those kids died because I was careless. I never thought anything I ever did mattered to anybody. Reckless, I guess. Even in church, I never gave any money, I never helped out because I thought nobody would notice that I didn't care. Because nobody got hurt, right? And then that night..." Richard lowered his head and shook it ruefully. "I still wasn't paying attention..."

He's rambling, Andrew thought. Why now? "Mr. Paxton, it's time to go."

"No, please, just let me finish. I didn't know who you were until I saw you at the accident. I don't know why I saw you - I don't think anyone else did. You were glowing, just like you are now, and you were holding that one kid's jacket in your hands. I saw this look on your face, like somebody had hurt you so bad..."

The old anguish returned, threatened briefly to flood over the angel. God help me, he prayed, and it diminished.

Richard lowered his head again, and there was a repressed sob in his voice. "Later on I saw you again. You were taking one of the kids to Heaven, a girl. She looked so - so scared, and I saw you comforting her, and - you were so kind and loving to her, even though I could tell you were still hurting yourself, you still hanged tough and did your job and - and I was so ashamed." Richard ran a hand through his hair. "Because even though I'd hurt you, you still showed love to us."

"It wasn't me," Andrew said tightly, his mouth dry, "It was God in me. His love always shines through."

Richard nodded numbly. "I know. I know God was there that night, and when I saw you taking that girl, holding that jacket with that look of - later on I thought maybe I looked like that when I saw the train and hit the brakes. I knew I'd done something awful, but I couldn't change it. Even right before the bus hit the train I thought, God, please don't make this happen! But it did, and I couldn't do anything about it, and I've felt horrible about it ever since. Horrible!" Richard stared at the floor. "I guess angels don't know anything about that sort of thing..."

Andrew felt as if he had lost his voice. "You might be surprised, Mr. Paxton." He said simply, "Are you ready to - "

Richard suddenly lifted his head. "Do you want to know what happened to him?"

Andrew blinked, shook his head. "Who?"

"The kid who owned the jacket. Cory. Oh - well, you probably already know, being an angel."

Andrew's eyes widened; he suddenly felt numb, as if something was hanging unsaid in the air, something he needed to know. _Had_ to know...

"Pretend I don't." He said, even more tightly.

Richard scratched his head. "Well, I found him on the bus right after we got to the concert. He was real mad at you and God, was all set to run off. But after the other kids got off the bus we got to talking." Richard looked right into Andrew's eyes. "He really looked up to you, you know? He said nobody else listened to him like you did. He told me he felt bad for swearing at you, I guess you kind of overwhelmed him when you said you'd follow him to his new home. I think he was scared to believe that you cared that much. But after we talked some more he said he wanted to go back to the church and tell you he was sorry. And he was, real sorry."

Andrew could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "Did he say anything about God?"

"God? Yeah, he asked me if I believed in God, and I said, yeah, sure. Then he asked me if he told God he was sorry, if God would forgive him. I said try it and find out. You know," Richard said wistfully, "That was the last sight I had of that kid, hunched in the back of the school bus with his eyes closed and his hands folded. Didn't think about him any more until after the accident..." Richard bent his head and shook it again, sorrowfully.

Andrew felt as if an electric shock had gone through him. Cory had accepted God. He'd gone to Heaven after all. The burden of doubt and self-recrimination that had lain on Andrew's shoulders for fifteen years suddenly lifted as if with a shout of joy, and he stared in wonder at the humble human who was kneeling before him, who had freed him so unknowingly.

Richard seemed unaware of Andrew's unabashed wonder, and lifted his head slowly. "Well, all I wanted was your forgiveness for what I did to you that night. Whatever that boy meant to you, I took it away. Just tell me you forgive me and...well, I guess the demons can come and take me away."

"Mr. Paxton - " Andrew almost gasped, so great was his relief and joy. He smiled, a genuine, broad, heartfelt smile that seemed to add to the glow around him and increase it a hundredfold, "Mr. Paxton, I do forgive you." And he meant it. "And - it's not up to me whether you get into Heaven, but if you've confessed your errors to God, and meant it, then I can promise you His forgiveness as well."

Richard looked puzzled, doubting. "You can? But I killed all those kids..."

"God knows, and He's heard your prayers of repentance. He's felt your sorrow, and he know you've been seeking forgiveness all these years. He's heard you, Mr. Paxton."

Richard didn't seem to believe it. "But how? How can He forgive me? I don't understand."

Andrew smiled again, and knew there were tears in his eyes but didn't care. He was too happy. "Mr. Paxton, believe me, the grace of God passes all human - "Andrew checked himself. " - actually, it passes ALL understanding. We all make mistakes. but God's mercy is that they can be wiped away forever and replaced with new life and everlasting peace." He looked down at his human charge and said quietly, gently, "And now, Mr. Paxton, I need to ask your forgiveness. I - judged you wrongly, blamed you for something I shouldn't have. Can you forgive me?"

Still on his knees, Richard stared at Andrew and said, "Forgive you? Yes, sure."

Andrew leaned back a little and smiled even wider, feeling suddenly light and buoyant. He tilted his head to Heaven for a moment, then looked at Richard and said, "Come on, Richard. It's time to go."

Obviously still somewhat dumbfounded, Richard staggered to his knees. He took a few faltering steps toward the dazzling angel, then stopped. Andrew held his hand out, but Richard was looking at the angel's shimmering white suit, the flaming blond hair. He touched his own grubby jeans, the ragged shirt, and shook his head.

"I still don't get it. Do you think God would want a dirty sinner like me in Heaven?"

Andrew shook his head in gentle reproach, but his smile still beamed. "Oh, Mr. Paxton, you should never call what God has cleansed unclean. Come on."

Hesitantly, Richard came close enough for Andrew to take him by the arm. As he studied the angel closely Richard's eyes widened.

"That light around you is the warmest thing I've felt in fifteen years." He remarked.

"Just you wait, Mr. Paxton," Andrew replied, all the happiness and exultation of Heaven singing in his heart as he led Richard into the light, "You ain't seen nothing yet."

* * *

A few days later Tess stood on the lawn of the newly refurbished church and watched Monica come walking across the street. Richard's funeral had been just a few hours earlier, held in the quiet morning hours of what promised to be a beautiful, warm spring day. As Monica neared, she smoothed the folds of the simple black dress she was wearing and smiled sadly at her supervisor. She had tears in her eyes.

"You all right, baby?" Tess asked.

Monica nodded, "It's just so sad. I don't suppose I should have expected a crowd at Richard's funeral, but it was really just me and a few others." Monica shook her head and gazed at the church lawn. "Oh, Tess, I hope we did some good here."

"You need convincing?" Tess said indignantly. "Look around you. This church is shining again, and if I know God He won't stop at just fixing up the outside."

"I hope you're right," Monica sighed. "I do know that all Richard wanted to do was make up for what he did. He wanted the town to know hope again, to live like it should. Maybe now that the church is renewed that can happen."

"With God's help anything is possible." Tess postulated. "Was Beth at the funeral?"

Monica nodded, her eyes far away. "She said she wanted to be alone for a while. I told her I'd come back and say goodbye."

Tess smiled warmly and put her arm around her protégé and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "You did a good job with her, Miss Wings. I'm proud of you. And God is too."

In the cemetery, Beth, in her best black dress, stood at Richard's grave quietly, thinking. After a moment she looked up and saw,walking towards her, someone she instantly recognized.

She waited until he had reached the point where she stood. Then she smiled at the glimmering figure and said, "I know you. The Sunday School teacher. The gorgeous guy in the beige suit."

Andrew smiled faintly. "Hello, Beth."

Beth looked at the grave, fresh earth mounded neatly. "You take him to Heaven?"

Andrew looked at the grave also. "I took him into God's presence. "

Beth shook her head. "It's so weird. I used to pray to God every day that Richard Paxton would die and burn in Hell. And now that I've forgiven him...I don't feel like that anymore."

Andrew smiled to himself. "God's grace can heal you in ways you never thought possible. I know. He healed me."

Beth looked at him, puzzled. "Angels need healing too?"

Andrew drew in a breath, sighed, and said, "Yes. Beth, God sent me to tell you it's time for what you're planning. He wants you to know He's behind you all the way."

Beth looked at him with purpose and nodded, then asked, "Can you help me with something?"

* * *

As Monica smiled back at Tess she heard a voice across the street call her name and looked. Mildred Cooper was bustling her way across the street, smiling and waving. Monica saw Mrs. Stratford too, but that woman was staying on the other side of the street, her arms folded, looking at the church with a disapproving expression.

"Mrs. Cooper," Monica acknowledged as the woman approached.

Mildred gave them both a friendly grin. "I just wanted to stop by and tell you both what a wonderful job you've done with the church yard. I know I said it before, but now that it's done it just looks - well, heavenly!"

"Thank you," Tess responded politely, "But it was really Richard Paxton that did all the work."

"Oh, yes," Mildred said, apparently saddened, "I heard he'd passed on. I wish he hadn't..."

Monica was surprised. "Why do you say that?"

Mildred looked around, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, I...Monica, can I speak to you alone for a moment?"

"Don't mind me," Tess said importantly, turning away, "I'll just go check the other side of the building."

After Tess had left, Mildred gave Monica a shamefaced look and said, "Well, you know the other day when we were all standing out here and you said I should be nice to Richard? Well, I thought about that and - and you know, the more I thought about the more I thought, well, why not. But of course, that was before...I almost offered him one of those doughnuts, but I didn't. Now I kind of wish I had. I guess - " Mildred laughed self-consciously. "I guess I'm kind of ashamed of myself."

Monica smiled. "Do you feel better now?"

Mildred thought about it, shrugged amiably. "A little, I guess. Nothing I can do about it now."

"Oh, but there is." Monica said reassuringly. "Richard's last hope was that the church be looked after, that it grow again and give back to the community what the accident took away. It's really all he wanted. Now we'll be leaving soon, but somebody needs to take care of it and make sure it's tended and not forgotten. Do you think you know of anyone who could take on such a responsibility?"

Mildred's eyes got big, then smaller again. "Are you asking me? Well, I don't know... funny, you know while my Robert was alive he was the groundskeeper here, so I do know a thing or two about it..." She seemed to mull this over, and finally smiled. "I guess I can think about it. Who do I contact?"

Monica's eyes twinkled. "Just pray, Mrs. Cooper. You'll reach the right parties."

Mildred smiled and nodded, as if she understood. Monica wasn't sure if she really did understand, but that was alright. Monica knew God understood, and that was all that mattered.

Tess reappeared from around the building and said, "Well, everything's in place. I guess it's time to - "

Mildred suddenly pointed into the sky and said, "Look at that!"

Monica looked. There, floating above the old gabled roofs of the downtown, were a number of brightly colored helium balloons. One by one they were drifting skyward, up into the high morning clouds.

A few passing pedestrians had noticed them too, and commented among themselves.

"That's coming from the cemetery," Monica realized, and together they all walked across the street toward that place.

As they neared the large iron gates, Monica saw Beth, dressed in black, standing on a small hill just outside the cemetery, a cluster of rainbow-hued balloons in her hand. Standing next to her, looking heavenward, was Andrew. He looked over and saw the small group of townspeople approach. He gave Beth a smile and walked off the hill. Monica and Tess met him at the base and he took their hands in his.

"Andrew," Monica said. She had not seen him since the night before. "Are you all right now?"

Andrew gave her a dazzling smile by way of answer. "Better than all right. Monica, Tess, God has reminded me again how incredibly great His love and forgiveness is. I - " He shook his head, gave up, shrugged his shoulders. "I have no words. Thank you for helping me."

"Our pleasure, baby," Tess smiled, and reached up to pat his cheek. "Anything to see that handsome face laugh again."

Andrew blushed a bit, looked down, then up at Beth as she spoke to the little group that had clustered at the base of the hill.

"I know you all probably think I'm crazy," She smiled as she pulled another balloon from the bunch and held it in one hand. "But maybe you won't when I tell you what I'm doing. I'm sending a promise to Heaven. These balloons are for my friends in Heaven..." Her voice caught a little, and she let the balloon go. "I thought maybe they'd want to know how I'm doing, so I attached a little note to each one. It says I'm okay now. I wasn't," She paused to look over the crowd, which was growing. "Not for a long time. I don't think any of us were. For a real long time I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I guess I didn't want to stop living with those great memories of what this place was like, before. But last night I kind of figured out that my friends don't want us to be there anymore. So I'm sending these," She pulled out another balloon, let it go. "To tell them goodbye, or I guess, until we meet again. And I'm also sending them a promise, because I want to get the town back, and I know with God's help we can do it."

The crowd murmured a little, shook their heads in confusion.

Beth smiled and looked at Monica. "I know, you think it sounds crazy. But I have it on very good authority that we can do it, and I want to start by finding a new pastor for our church, maybe paint some new murals on the walls and reopen it, so we can all start living again, with God's help. I know some of you think I shouldn't have gone to Richard Paxton's funeral this morning, but I'm glad I did. Because it was really hard, forgiving him for what he did, but once I did - "She happily pulled out another balloon and let it go. "- I felt just like one of these balloons, I felt light and free, as if a shroud had been taken off. I want us all to feel like that again, don't you? Don't you want to feel hope, and joy, and like tomorrow's going to be better instead of just the same? Please, for Eddie, for Lisa, for - for your nephew, Tommy - " Beth looked at Mrs. Stratford, who jolted as if struck and stared back, "For everybody. They don't want us to mourn them anymore. They want us to live. And - and now so do I."

Smiling, tears in her eyes, Beth pulled out another balloon. She looked away to release it - and felt a tug at the bunch in her hands. Turning quickly, she saw Mildred Cooper standing next to her, pulling at the strings. The woman gave her a smile.

"What the heck," She said, "Looks like fun. And it's about time." So saying, she yanked out a balloon and let it go.

As Monica, Tess, and Andrew watched, several of the other townspeople, uncertainly, hesitantly, approached Beth and took balloons. Then they let them go, wavering, not with Beth's certain faith but with a faltering kind of hope that what she was saying might come true. Monica saw Mildred bring a balloon to Mrs. Stratford, but the old woman still stood there, arms folded, resisting Mildred's insistent gaze. Finally she gave the bright sphere a bewildered, almost angry look and turning on her heel strode through the crowd and out of the area.

Monica moved quickly to Mildred's side as the woman sadly watched her friend leave. "Don't worry," Monica soothed, putting an arm around her shoulder. "She's just not ready yet. Hopefully one day she will be."

Mildred gave Monica a grateful smile and said, "I hope so. Cause this does feel good!" and released the balloon.

Finally the group melted away, talking amongst themselves and leaving Beth standing alone on the hill, holding one white balloon. She looked at it a moment, then down at the three angels at the base of the little hill. Andrew left his friends and went to stand by Beth, looking down at her with happy, rejoicing eyes.

Beth smiled at him and held out the balloon. "I was saving this last one for Richard."

Andrew nodded and took hold of the string. As Monica and Tess watched, Beth and Andrew released the balloon together, and it floated up, past the whispering trees of the cemetery, past the tarred roofs of main street, finally past the gleaming steeple of the church and up into the morning sun, until finally it found its way into the brilliant whiteness of the clouds, and somewhere in them, became a perfect dove and flew away to Heaven.


End file.
